This pathetic appetite. This gnawing belly of pretense and self-deceit does no more than fuel an already accursed engine of malignancy. Reeling with disgust we evacuate our viral weakness into the puerile promise of a deseased womb. Prison of hope and destroyer of virility. Breeder of infirmity and church of contepmt.
Destiny is nothing.
Thoughts mere cancer. You who twitch sad spasm, squirting uselessness to affirm your own existence, spewing mediocrity and deaths to come. You beget the enemy. The abject fear of your former self. How laughable this pompous drive to impregnate time and transient flesh with the spave of your ego.