© MMXVI A.N.E.
I don’t want a grave in YOUR world for YOU to desecrate, I want to burn, evade as smoke. I am so many peoples fault. Now I’ll disperse into the air YOU all breathe, be the culprit of YOUR cancerous lungs.
There is no need to prevent humans from taking their lives. No harm is done, anyway. The ones who die, just die in their own favour. Of course, they do it partially because of YOU, but yet, yet they are noble knives who spare YOU!
Kill everybody, kill everything, let the universe implode! YOU are only one step away from total destruction, feel the urge, the holy caused command to end it all. And it only takes YOU, you to adjust YOUR own body-temperature.
YOUR death kills ‘em all with one final strike. So why kill anyone else, why at all? Because YOU despise Herr Freitod, preventing him from doing his holy duty. YOUR universe, that cosmic abyss is the fucking fault! It. Is. YOUR. Bloody. Default.
I’ll rush my walls, my defences, built to hermetically keep YOU off, then climb my ten million tons of depraved black tar wielding wartrain and I shall rush YOUR walls, the ones YOU built to scare me off, and I will crush YOUR walls. And I shall crush YOUR world.
Children are true. They are right when they claim that the elder YOU grow the more of an abstract YOU become. A piece of modern art, by an artist YOU have never heard of, or ever seen. YOU are the woven cloth, adhering to an infamous painting!
And, in the end of the day, when night’s silken screen covers every pervert under the moons snowy white, then I don’t like, I disgust the smell of your child molesting culture. The submissive rape of angels, raped by broken demons.
Brainwashing a pristine piece of art at a hundred degrees celsius with an acid detergent. Then again, soaking it in the pools of the blood of YOUR enemies, drying it in plain sunlight to preserve it from being forgotten.