97×3²

Everything makes sense to me except myself, and that, by itself, doesn’t make sense at all. After all, I was only made to fail, so others can follow suit.

I need a wench to cleanse my mind from all that once mattered, to show me that all that I bled is but a dry a rust on the desert sand. Let the unclean skin of the abused purify your rotten soul, let her false moans unite with your silenced curses, let her scars heal you, as her bare sweating flesh strips you of your alleged virtues. Close your eyes and feel her claws sink deeper into your chest, as the sound of her fluttering wings echoes inside your lungs, let her blood-sweet whisper read you your final verse, as her lonely semen-stained kiss puts you to one last sleep.

And there, my friend, at the end of all that ever ends, you’ll find the answer to all that you never asked, and you will find me; the one, the none, the neither and the never, you’ll find the whole and the all together, you’ll find the I, you’ll find the why, you’ll find the who, the nil; the you.

H.Q.
23:41
SUN|24|NOV|2K13