Cenotaph Sourve Of Suspicions
My own sick world, dreaming of desperations;
Desperations create hatreds in our dark souls and
suspicions in my existence.
Torment, subconciously, image of misery, image of death,
haven't you realized yet?
Our souls are sinner.
While we are returning back followings are felt:
Fear of life,
Birth of decay,
Rising idolization but indefinite source of us,
Infinite amount of wrath.
Fetid huge minced philantrophics gush out their grudge
And these kind of loatsome ideas
Should only be the products of morbid mind.
Aversion to a mentally bandaged mutual supporteds,
Confronting aggrogan babtists.
Their babtism makes you follow the path of your slavery.
Acquesce the agonizing ache inside;
It's because of your conceit and surrounds you like
borbed.
Adoring this false movement, a pain is felt from down
abdomen,
Babling of a red liquid down my legs into basin on which
I am standing.
Maximum appetite I have ever had is satisfied by
fantasies on my mind.
My false mind...
