These nerves feel heavy on the tongue, a plague eating away the rotting flesh from the inside. To find harbor indoors from the bitter air and even worse population as the days turn shorter and death crunches under your footsteps.

The birth machine called humanity, sweating and grunting and ejecting the fetus we label hypocrisy. Let’s see what the little flesh grows up to be.

Close-mindedness.

The root of insecurities.

A cancer that consumes free will.

Sell me your savior, I’ll take what I can get.

Numbed on a mind alteration, I break down into primal elements. Vital fluids squeeze through ducts in this vessel transporting a weak and childish soul through the shifting bowels of life.
So mortality is finding a place, a middle ground between bestial cravings and philosophical enlightening, and this structure of reality is a never-ending perfection of symmetry. A game with no winner. A maze with no finish.

So what makes human life so exceptional?

It’s my goddamn sixty dollar watch, beotches.