A General Narration

The walls of the world shrink. From pillars made from rows of teeth, closing in with bloody incisors

The flesh we've gnawed off our own limbs hangs strangled between our fangs. Cold bloodthirst in the murder of religious literacy.

Words run out of their lasting narration. Reality unravels with a perceived pointless drivel-

None regret;

All must suffice

Or whatever else.

We are but a letter written in praise of its sender; every brushstroke of ink the identity lavishing a message; make-shift gods of a renunciation from our own illustration.

There is no resolve in the sealing of its enclosure, resolute only in that there is no making right what is presently wrong;

Consequences making themselves abundantly clear - reeling a trio of three ugly heads in the twist of its neck from their backs.

Unyielding, we are propelled ahead of ourselves - forced to adhere to the future implications of turning ourselves away from rebuking

What nothing could have prepared us from reaping

For how we have failed one another

And for how we've failed ourselves, if nothing else.