Ending Tyranny 12 palms

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Filthiest minds spewing their utmost vile
misconceptions, absorbed into your pores.
Longing to deplete every fibre of being.
Disgusting creature, horrid consumer, irrelevant creator.
Masking the degradation amidst the foul and mundane.
Slithering father,
reveal yourself to my insignificance,
having completed the burden that was asked of me.
I relinquish myself to your unholiest of excellence.
Wash over me, wash over me entirely, penetrate my presence.
Consume me entirely, cultivate me, forcing beliefs on me.
I am not who you once knew, I am the end, the embodiment of evil.
Deprived of the sense of acknowledgement, I await your approval.
Objectionable as it may be,
I seek your blessing, blindly devoting your essence to nothing.
The rewards are as such, bland and weak.
Nothing fulfilled, nothing obtained; ascertained.
Slowly eroding, it gnaws to the core, peeling the fibres.
Individually at first.
Grasping now clusters, disintegration.
The quest toward enlightenment hindered by the harbinger.
Preaching foul nectar spewn forth to the
listener, concoction so sour, it reeks of deception.
Recycled. Regenerated.
Consumed and reborn.
The rewards are as such, bland and weak.
Nothing fulfilled, nothing obtained; ascertained.
A higher power you've put blind faith in,
to reject your requisition to be carried to
the heavens for an eternity of entitlements.
Rather 12 sweaty palms descend you in a
hole, a dirty cavity to remain while you rot.

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