the road to my good fortune was paved in blood.
***end entry***
cordon off the exits,
and bathe the streets in burning gasoline...
(bury the rest in an earthquake)
no proof,
no love,
no memory--
will be allowed to leave here alive.
it is a crudely fashioned revenge rebellion,
the toy soldier lynch mob waited impatiently to be wound
and were happy to carry out the task...
the cross-pollination produced perfect, pure killers.
melted glass,
smoking cinders,
piles of burning memories.
i sat satisfied,
perched
on my stone helm,
knowing well that i have met my last breath.
[...and god called in sick that day.]
NB @ 12:03 AM
1 Comments:
That's what call a well deserved death, my friend.
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