destro

I can feel the Earth's erratic pulsations below its filthy thick rippled foreskin
This feeling is far too comforting
The universe's largest assembly line working subconsciously towards
the goal of global genocide
Will we ever have a chance to look back and laugh?
As a human I have succeeded in etching my own notch from the planet's scum and failed in my effort for concern
As individual units we are the gears, the lubricants, the cables
As one we are the genocide machine
This feeling is far too comforting
Burn in soothing satisfaction
Burn in comfort
Burn the genocide machine
There is a wicked barrier that detaches and discolors our unattainable
dreams from our inescapable realities
Nothing chafes the ego more than the monstrous realism of eight hours of
subservience
applied for and anticipated so that the possibility of a less materialistic
existence could be avoided
Like slowly sucking cold tar through a narrow straw
Vomit upon your dreams
Slowly sucking until you die
Like the numb birds that failed to make their migration
Thin flesh, frozen yet dry, has sunken and painted itself to the filthy bones of its dead host
Dusted in snow kissed by fuel emissions and dog ejaculation
Soil fused to feathersSoil fused to the bodyLess than a statistic so are we