spinning
finitely
to
nothing-
ness,
love is
feared,
and saints
rape the innocent
with sugar,
lies,
and
hate.
survival
rests
indelicately
in the heart
of a clown.
let madness be your armor,
and paradox your sword.
mount the rocinante of jest
as Fate bawls on your chest.
the mob, insane with greed
will never cease to feed
on you,
your Truth,
your fire.
so get it twisted
and save your soul.
Fuck these motherfuckers
and go make your own.
theDeprevation 