Cycles

The world has already been explored, our mores have already been shattered. Now we are all languishing.
The wars have been fought. All strength spine and defiance has wormed its way into words of decadence.
The old world is a dying white protestant corpse.

And his word has blanketed the complications of life.

The world that takes his place will not crush his head with a steel boot. It will watch him struggle, brandishing himself on the floor, as the androgynous stormtrooper picks flowers on martian missions.

And that fear of each other will replace with a refreshingly empty experience.

where the universe is bare, and the names are stripped of us.

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