I contemplate the decaying force of the forged nature, that I have been forced to admire. None of this is more special then a bitter draft at sunrise.



 I am just flesh attached to bones that serve no other purpose, other than rotting;



 The beauty of everything that has ever yearned to be beautyful is just makeup on existentialist dross;



 I am the bitter taste of gall that circulates in the veins of those who still consider the eternal penitence a godly gift.



 All your idols are dead, they died in vain, what for?



 ...Life??????