Another one of those wake up things.

Let your blood soaked clothing rein evident to your failure. The animals who plot your demise will devour your flesh as the scent of the fallen quench their nostrils. They stalk you, watching your habits. As you pour the black liquid of your pleasure down the esophagus of the ruins.

Knowing your every step, they laugh at your stumblings and faults. The pure joy that is in the pits of their chest, as they contemplate every piercing of your flesh with their porceilin teeth.

Sweat drips into their eyes irritating the vessels in their whites, but none of them blink. Thinking that the slightiest loss of frame will cause them to lose the prey, you. Wake up,
wake up,
wake up.

Cut your losses and run, let the cold air cause your lungs to cough up the liquid you have devoured. Run. Wake up. Go.

You have time. You can’t hear it, but they scream at their potential failure. Muscle tension in their legs bulges their veins, pushing liquid, thick, through their synthetic arteries. Scratching of their claws on cement reminds you. That you, you are being followed.
Run, as the darkness consumes and turns the pavement to dust. They look for quenching of thirst with the blood on your shirt, but are left to suffice with the dust that is kicked up.

Knowing the finish, they run after their false hope. Lapping the dust like the water that once occupied their bowls.


Appears the flesh of the liar, the one who sicks his evil upon you. He smirks at your efforts, and your heaving chest.

You look into his blood filled eyes, and he devours you in his mind.

He begins to laugh.
This becomes contagious.
You too laugh.

Losing breath, you laugh harder. Knowing his lack of competency in the understanding of the divine.

His laughing dies, and you continue. For you know his Failure.

You no longer are blind.

The footsteps of the perfect number begin to echo through the landscape.
Laughing, this becomes comedy.

The liar knows not what he has unleashed.

As the steps grow closer, they consume the veins of the earth.

And you, stand behind Him.

Watch as their kingdom is left in ruins.



Your arrogance drips off your lips like the leftovers from the vomit you just emited from your esophagus.
Wipe your mouth on your sleeve and let the odor remind you of your fault.
Your voices sound so mellow yet the calmness causes others to hear your words carefully.
For if you faultier, He will be quick to stick your face in the dirt.
For rather He defy you than the snake who slithers through the earth.
Only giving you enough rope to hang yourself with, watching you die and putting you back on your feet.
He whispers His love into your ears.
Weeping your body convulses and the stench on your sleeve tells you your history.

When the morning star rises, you cover you body with the same stained shirt.
The stench overwhelms the nostrils and your eyes begin to water.

Just remember who gave you the ability to put your shirt back on.