Mental Vomit

Bullet proof halos crown are angels now and days. Trust is what we call the rope that we hang ourselves from. Our life’s have been a gift worth ripping apart. Eyes drift into the mirror and seek to see past this caging flesh to see inside my soul. All I glimpse is a bleeding wound. God look apon your creations that you have painted on your canvas of screams. Full of decapitated unborn children with there “new-age” mothers that seem to view them only as a problem with one solution. This is the beautiful art your life has presented you with. You look away as the world fades into itself. Greed is the mother of this all, green paper and golden T’s coarsing through her broken veins. The knife still warm as we grow cold. Control is the only thing the bullet can taste from your blood. Hatred like ice shatters into a million lost, lifeless moments to form the trigger. Are these not the reasons why the Saints cried and Satan wept? Another death in the world today just filed under as another statistic.