(no subject)
The so-called "children of god" are a tone-deaf and nitwit lot. A choir of dilated throats vibrating the tired choruses-- songs sung against the invariable inevitable-- to some half-hearted, asshole god.
Would that their maledictions could sharpen their own tongues tips to razor points. And oh, my dearest, to watch them take on the characteristics of stone. For if the tongue is sharp enough to cut even the slightest tremor could grin wide into an gaping arabesque of blood and flesh.
The choking wine of their lives flowing from them. The echoes of our laughter, a celestial music.
Punishment or evil? Evil or punishment?
"Here you are, traveller." The man in white says, "You may choose between door number one and door number one."
"No good dead goes unpunished."
Would that their maledictions could sharpen their own tongues tips to razor points. And oh, my dearest, to watch them take on the characteristics of stone. For if the tongue is sharp enough to cut even the slightest tremor could grin wide into an gaping arabesque of blood and flesh.
The choking wine of their lives flowing from them. The echoes of our laughter, a celestial music.
Punishment or evil? Evil or punishment?
"Here you are, traveller." The man in white says, "You may choose between door number one and door number one."
"No good dead goes unpunished."