Attack, break smash destroy in the name of frustrated broken grasps at love. Where can we find what fulfills and what satisfies?

Life in it’s drunken spun out deception. Where does the line of polite break against the vulgar?

We slip out one day after the other into the next again and again within the fallen foes of ended times. Tin solders standing against the blowtorch. All spinning in a gangly and imposable blended existence.

It’s just a thrown spiral arm obliterating its way to creation.

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