I contemplate the decaying force of the forged nature,
that i have been forced to admire.
None of this is more special then a bitter draft at sunrise.
I am just flesh attached to bones that serve no other purpose,
other than rotting;
The beauty of everything that has ever
yearned to be beautyful is just makeup on e
xistentialist dross;
I am the bitter taste of gall that circulates
in the veins of those who still
consider the eternal penitence a godly gift.
All your idols are dead, they died in vain, what for?
...Life?

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