Put the light to the wick(ed) and the whole candle goes into metldown.
Something happened. Somethng SNAPPED. Just now. Did anyalone hear it? Hope is a thin thing, a mere manohfullamental whyre – and one good SSSSWIPE mite been enough to tear it as-under and sling it hence. Midnight isn’t the dark night of the solo, no matter what they say – Fitz was right about sugjesting that it feels more like a very LOOOOOOOONNNNNNGGGGG three Hey Him. Looking forward for a light that isn’t aphereing in the sky, a dawn that isint donning. Maybe this will be it, right, the day the Sun de-sides. Fuck you, I’m not coming out toplay today.
And the dark is out there. No matter how the light shines in here, it’s ALWAYS NIGHT OUT THERE. It’s warm, but only in here – and no matter what you can’t stop thinking and pondering and worrying and fearing the Dark and the Cold. The darkness comprehended it not, but take the Muzzies; they don’t worry about COMPREHENDING what they don’t understand, they prefer to destroy it. And some Goddamn FOOL is getting up and going to the door and they’re about to let It in, let the Darkness in, to freeze us, to put out all our lights, to split that last sthred of hope. Mine’s cut clean, howbout yores. Snow and sleet and anything that’ll freeeeeze or drowwwwn. They’re letting it in, a bit at a time. THAT’s how the light is re-parting us, because nobody bothers to rage against the dying anymore. A little Darkness hier, a little aber THERE, and the whole world woinds up bloind and Leute-less. THE LIGHT IS GOING OUT. and somewhere down the road the man waits with his rucksack full of bloody fingers / up the street the scimitars are being sharperend / at four thrifty on a tuesday afternew the man whips a cigmund in the gutter and spots a site / and the everlastingaze blinks for a split second but it’s just barely enough for the mushroom to sneak through / my heart is trans-unfixed with the black obsidian pain of something I dassn’t name because it hasn’t a name of its own, not really / and the twine of the world has begun to go unraveled, vertical losign touch with horizontal, woof being warped and vice versa / underneath the wheels lie the skulls of every sacrifice made to appease a backasswards moongod that drinks manblood / and the uglies are building up, but not within us, the parasites are real and in the world and they’re going to reproduce their virus if it kills them / or us / and here comes the end can you see it coming like i can?
FOR GODS SAKE HOW LONG DOES THIS GO ON