HAVING LOST SO MUCH
Behind every great man is an evil fester : a seething
to make the world his. That is never how it should
be, but nonetheless how it is. The lines are already
penciled in, and you cannot stop the fire.
-
I have found nothing atop this heap of nothing :
the drawbridge is closed open, the openings
already shut. Every shadow merely fills its
shape, pre-ordained and following a custom.
It's a putrid sorrow, this, before any loving starts.
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