Aloof to the burden of thinking and thought he knew not the horror and sadness he'd wrought. Without ever asking for a by-your-leave he went steady forward sans hope of reprieve for all of the people whom he had abused lived off of sucked dry harried spat on and used. His path it was steady his step never strayed and naught but the urge of his greed he obeyed and naught but the need of his ego he knew which was a black cold sour and bloody stew. It wasn't 'til lying there on his death-bed that with a foreboding and a sense of dread he honored the fault and the wrong of his ways and wished he could go back to his younger days and speak to himself with tones soothing and true but there he lay dying and nothing could do. Therefore keep the ego as small as can be and turn to the timelessness of the life-tree and eat of her fruit-fall and drink of her sap and lay aside lust want and other such crap for all of one's actions do sound without pause from dear mother's womb-hold to Cerberus's jaws.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥
