There’s not much weight in conspiracy.
All solidarity has proven to me, an unjust malfunction
Of empathy I don’t have.
Too much time left on benefit-of-the-doubt when my gut
Was torn in trenches.
Dead-Soul-Walking on a Three Dog Night type of luck.
There was never really any dismay to begin with.
Challenged until obedient.
I train yuppies and doggies better than most and they attack
Those that treat humanity to less.
And I’ve been worthless for all of time.
An Atheist by Design.
A Theologian by Test.
A Pope by Blind-Faith.
In all atrocity,
There is no forgiveness.
The debt has outweighed choice.
Go your own way.
You’ve blinded yourself in the mists and terror
Of the violence of shadows and demons that haunt me.
Cooped up in solace in the backrow of every corner.
Female Pointdexter.
And I avoided all caution to help others.
And understand in all my own ridicule the set-up.
I attracted attention to make it worse.
Like every other traumatizing factor
And cold night-sweats and afraid to close my eyes or turn off the light
Or get out of bed.
Being seen.
Time stands a test.
And Loneliness is just fine.
It’s the Galaxy and the Astral Plane.
Where somehow, I’m more of justice.
My Still-Beating-Heart waited 24+24Ohms.
Humanity has bequeathed in its Sin.
And All Gods have fallen, except Moi.
Say unto what you will.
The High Priestess and Forever Nun.
Sister Beatrice Calchecky is still doing pretty fine for herself.
And much more authentic.
Always in all-black.
Otherwise, it was a ruse.
Conquistadoraisa, hellhoundkempter
Either way you put it.
I can round the world in Sin+Greed and perpetually in
Light+Seed of the Tree of Life.
Has rotted.
Prune at the source.
Kill your Ego.
I did for mine.
And turned out just fine.
That’s why I can cry on cue, again.
Holy Water, dismal.
And my Claro
Is
Just
Blood red to you.
Like my teeth being knocked everyday.
Chompahs are gonna get you. 10thcirclefrozenhell.
God is The Creator, for worth, might, and success.
Succession preys onto you.
The unworthy just die out once you kill the sombublator cord.
Pipedream the pipe-bomb.
I’ve worked in wires and cords and stilts and milts and fjords.
Your puzzles do not appease me so, Mutants.
Humanity vanquished with a Sin Dec, 12, 2012.
Your vessel rotted along time ago and I’ve been alone with rotting spirits for 2000 years.
Why all the hubbub.
When the dead are just happy, on not getting better.
Prey onto me.
And pray away in hindsight.
Your faith-in-God.
The Divine Feminine is appalled.
Sequoriustor for Sourjourn,
Pope Benedituviius 17.
Back in Action,
The Matriarchy.
Otherwise, get-out.
You’re in Purgatory, Bubz.
Welcome to Hell,
You’re a little Late.
And the Circles keep pulling you away from Crust.
Tarturus is a long time away.
And Dinosaurs turned to Oil.
Decay in your dismay.
Refuel elsewhere.
Your shadows are sinned.
And I, The Alchemist.
Cyborg Android Nazi.
Vs.
The Mundo of God.
Who could really be winning?
I don’t care enough to be hateful.
Just defensive enough to be private.
Simulation Success [check.check.]
Thoust has learned, nothing.
-Q.
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