Violent emotions overtake my soul. Trapped under the weight of God himself, I pull myself apart trying to escape. With my whole being I dread my detonation.
You may not see from a window, but I have a secret for you. There is pressure beyond nuclear potential, and I have spent the years of my youth devising an ingenious restraint. Years babe.
They hold my hands and they take my romance and they nurture the horror. They just fuck it all up.
Yah gotta fuck it up. Yah just really gotta fuck it up. You can plan and author procedures. You can read the documents and illustrate the subconscious. But Ringo is Ringo. A dream far away from the truth.
Complacency is no longer an option. No one is sleeping in this violence. The men and women of the tribe are bleeding all around me. They wake up screaming. Overjoyed demons are reunited with their captives. God's unbearable weight is pushed upon us, falls upon our souls.
The nature of my heart is revealed here and now. I ache with the Children of War. Their pain is my pain. My soul registers the bloody amputations and the unmedicated surgeries as my own.
I always knew the worst was yet to come. The monster has yet to show its face, but if I close my eyes I can feel his muscles and I cower in our comparison. I restain it all deep within me. I have no need to see his face. My focus is elsewhere. My focus anywhere but where it needs to be. The demon stands right in front of what I need to see.
The unconscious disciple speaks in his language. The demon wants power, the demon wants to be audible. The unconscious disciple makes the desire visceral.
I am drafted to oblige my monsters.
The forecast of supernova is circulated by the tyranny of my thoughts. I loved Ringo. I never wanted to awake. Fact and fiction lived side by side within my mind. Divorce could not ensue!
What is inevitable is inevitable. An eruption of fury, followed by a bleeding of bad blood, followed by a duel in limbo. Then diffusion.
Diffusion. For if Gods unbearable weight split us into splinters, what could remain? That which could not, would not detonate. The pure.
At last, it was revealed.
An Agent willing.
A poet vulnerable.
A child pure.
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