God. I do.
From the invisible hands that steal the night into a standstill
Even the visible digits are stealthily mystifying
Reaching out as if the bait is open for all the callousness and upheaval laying in wait
As the years of sweating and swearing for answers climax into the jugular of the devourer that cleans itself each time the mess of disruption unleashes liquid fury
The designed pattern of evidence is clean
But you are not.
The soiled loins of brutal ecstasy drip with renewed longing for the next and the next
And the one before you now
You biblical reject…
Oh the children! Oh my Lord.
I want to save them. It’s too late for me.
But let’s save them
Them. You. Me. We. They.