The Monster Epidemic

Rolling along with the rain pigment of metamorphic sound, I am becoming inseparable from the wind.

In the speed of it all, I have left my lungs to the wrath of Fire, vomiting forth smoke and charcoal, while the angels weep ether eyes and piss on the ash left to ruin the world.

I will not stop to pity the Dead and Broken. I will not cry for the stagnation of a billion souls. There is no time.

I am fleeing from the shadow of myself, and I must not let it catch me if I hope to make it through this dark night alone and as one. I drink the fluid of my motion, breaking through the black rock to bring forth the diamond light of liquid vision.

I must not stop.

The shadow will engulf me, and I will be trapped forever in the poisoned cunt of the Great Whore. Angels will die on the smouldering charcoal of my spoiled breath. The Great Whore. The Demon God of Destruction, come to laugh a cacophony of pain upon the scoured and hairless Monkeys, coiling and writhing upon their infected earth like tortured worms – and I will find myself, stagnant and cold, painted and sealed in the crust of my own feces, staring heartless and mindless into the mirror of my forsaken joy.

I must not be swallowed.

It is time to push through the envelope, to break open the sacred wall, peel back the skin and expose the worms before the light of God.

There is no monster that can withstand the force of an honest blow of Love.

I need only open my eyes and the fire of my heart will spew forth my soul in a flood of light, to obliterate the shadow once and for all.

There is nowhere to hide in the face of clarity.

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