Smoky ghosts escape from the rusty depths of hell
to be dissipated in oxygen and nitrogen.
It's a trade-off of convenience and death feigned as an unnecessary necessity.
Crests and troughs of land as far as the mind can see,
replaced by the rigid silhouette of a corporate state.
Your army infiltrates existence in every crook and nanny.
The fear of spiritual genocide hovers
or the fear that it has already happened.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Chums
Archivo del blog
This is me
- T.J.
- Los Angeles, California
- I like bad puns. Mostly because I suck at making good ones. Expository speech remnants, ftw.