DESCRIPTION:
At the precipice I stand before the spectre of Death, wearing only my Karl Marx chonies. Engulfed by the profound emptiness within his ocular cavities I submit to precognition. I have a vision. Stretching out toward the horizon I see masses of homosexuals writhing in excrement and psychiatric drugs. Amongst the crumbling pillars of God's America the damned join in a 24/7 orgy of apathetic debasement. They practice the Dark Arts at the feet of towering mountains of stolen wealth. Mountains crowned with the thrones of their Marxist masters, who play grotesque fiddles made of bone, grown from stem cells, while society degenerates in the long shadows cast beneath them. Like a funeral shroud for a mass grave. "Then I felt my mind split open".


© steele aug. 2012
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