Illumination of a tortured mind, festered sentiments lodged in houses of dirt and sand, broken promises that hail the emptiness of a downtrodden humanity, all who come know not what they do, believe or intend. Forlorn are the people who watch from afar, this nestled under branches foreboding as the darkest recess of the nights sky. Dismayed gods that serve their puppets and their puppets feast on their light. Divinity succumbs to rudimental hunger, a hunger that is only quenched by blood and flesh. Chambers for the wicked, the blind and the poor. Castles for the ignorant and the strange. Nocturnal thoughts creep and subside, but give way only to aforementioned hate and despair. Life didn’t choose you, it bought you. You are not blessed, yet neither are you cursed. You are what your mind tells you, but your mind can be wrong. Shifting shapes of blue and gold, white and red, black and silver that dance in the presence of hope and virility. Candles burn but sooth the eyes, and feathers tickle the distasteful rumble of spiny guilt. You may cut, but you will cut to deep. A picket fence that is tainted by red stains. Fall to the ground my kin. Fall to the ground, and never come up.
