Pyogenic Mess

Clean up the mess that the darkness envelops? You whore. The chemicals that I draw from your eyes will serve as nectar for my little ones. Nectar that will heal their wounds... Wounds that you only wished you knew how to heal.

I bleed forth salve and antacids. I inebriate the world with my poison and my assumed wealth. You cannot see where we are going, you can only see from whence we came. Please close the door on the way out -- we really don't pay to heat the outside.

I shove the soggy grain into my mouth because that's what I've been told to do. When my mother put the tissue to my nose and told me to blow, I blew. It's what I was born to do. It's my spiritual gift, my duty which will serve all of mankind. You see, I'm an altruist -- I'm not like all the others; in fact, I weep for their souls on a daily basis. If I were to be paid a reasonable salary, I would exonerate the masses, relinquishing them from the reigns of sorrow and misery.

I will wipe away the soot from your eyes, little one... I will cause you to see.

And.

Feel.

Fantasy exists to console the poor soul who's discontent with his present reality. Like milk dripping from a foot, it seems to be void of meaning. But oh, how I wish... how we all wish. We can't seem to wrap our heads around the apparent cold existence that we must all suffer. But we suffer together. Never forget that we are not tortured alone; rather all of humanity enters the gallows together. As one body. One mind. One consciousness. One essence.

I will correct the world with my red pen, assaulting the pages of life with crimson vertical segments. You'll see that the sum total of all things equals nothing more than a frivolous pool of red ink.

You'll see that what's on the outside is more worthless than the most insignificant finite slice of the cosmic pie that is time.

Inner things, on the other hand, are godly and full of mirth and pleasure. Thank you.