strangled in a vice grip.
this is the place where sadness breeds, the desolation in
this is a wasteland full of nameless, faceless, soulless
mounds of flesh,
mewling, writhing in and out of existence.
long for communion.
the wailing moans, the gnashing of teeth.
the deafening, endless, complete isolation.
long for an end, a day of reckoning.
into my bones, let it descend.
the holy stones lay scattered at the head of every
urban scars wiped clean.
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