"Quiet yourself fool and begin the sequence"
From the right came a siren muffled by the screams of dying manifested images. I sat in repent of the music I had yet to create. A world of hate in which my writings became fewer as I died inside. The network of shifting sounds of pain rising up from the down low interests of wilting life. This was not a mythical place, I did not believe in such places surrounded by spiritual shit. This was real, and it came to point at which even switching off the speakers of the dead was not enough to keep the ringing from causing your head to burn, yet hurt only when thought of. This was death baby, and it ended only with you. But no such entity controlled these urges of power, these figments manifested through the tireless sitting, infecting itself with the anti-comedic satirical artwork that was but a black sheet cloaked in the smell of rot. From now on nothing changed in the darkness, the sound had ceased but the memories of tomorrow's coming kept those with ambition from interfering in the realm of murder. When would the next rising become less of a tilting chamber and instead control this world of regret? The end proved itself less of a fact than a mindset in which those with understanding of it could not know its origins, but rather had to confine themselves in a trap that would soon lead to their demise. This was no story of meaning, but rather the ramblings of an insane man, a man with the intent of destroying whatever it was that kept at him in the wakened points of drug runs and cult meetings. I cannot explain the events to just anyone, for the enemy lurks even here, in these words. The mark of mentality could no longer bring itself to the resting place in which it had promised nearly an hour ago. My time was not now, it was instead a broken plate surrounded by dreams, floating in time with the music (aforementioned). The discretion of the ones in bondage of this place was one that few understood with any clarity. The clouds had not cleared as hoped for on that dreary day, and the kids were kept inside to become martyrs and thieves. Those with the intent of not stealing were stolen from and soon became vagrants in search of death. Time and again there became clouds, and soon the world became a visionary quest for greed. The remorse was drowned out by the pills, the antidote of happiness, the queen of the damned. very soon collapse of the nation was in session, and those in its path were mercilessly crushed. Hope for the future became pain over the present, as there was no way of hoping for anything but a quick demise. And yet the music, played on...