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Laying neath the serpent's coil,
In a sickly pleasant nest of order and debris.
Wrapped in the husks of conquered pasts,
Cold in the hollow shells of their memory.
Another night met with grimace and blade,
But encountered only by drunks and their tired shame.
Grown sick of the acetic breath of beasts,
Sour and spoiled with failing ability.
They trifle within their safe boundaries,
Scared of the stare of any true challenge.
Sightless and wild like startled bats.
Emaciated and weak from lurking in caves.
This vacant place of lazy cowards and mental disease,
A single track monotony of incompletion and insanity.
Treading impatient around the keep of these transient things,
Surrounded by incompetent beings slithering with gluttony.
Fat and ugly, full of ignorance and wasteful breaths.
Functionless organs filled with shit and despairing.
Lumbering things spouting whimpers and whines.
Patterned creatures, wallowing in familiar pools.
Discontented with the conquered space,
Strewn with thin carcass and empty gaze.
I've come overarmed for their mediocrity,
Draped with the flayed skins of slaughtered fates,
Decorated with the triumphs of unconquerable hostility.
Bland and squandered minds found dripping away.
The long scalps of severed pursuits stare expectantly,
Winding elegantly round the wrist.
Warm without joy in the tedium of present.
The corpses of control rotating through their days.
Encrusted with the bone shards of broken trials,
Shattered bits of spent fists finding nothing to hold.
Unchallenged in an arena of aging sloth.
Misshapen candidates slink back to their squalor.
Bored with the spectacle of chained cattle grazing circles bare.
I gaze back to the beast's endless black,
Awaiting the brush of the dark's burning scales.
Yearning for its transforming scorch.
Within its spinning teeth a purpose.
The close of dimming fears.
And longing like suicide for the grace of destruction,
Hunched and starved like a dog.
The wounds and wisdom come forth slowly,
Only in the depths of utter vicissitude.