And in reality, another shadowy force forced to flee into the flicker of everlasting agony.
Unwinding its’ course as marked, and destined like an ear worm removed, a curse lifted.
Also is the spineless serpent all the way—a black hole's reentry spiraling down into his turn.
Just as a potter's wheel solidifies and encapsulates its ashes in urn.
Holding onto as a grape to a vine...deprived yet nourished.
Peace, hope, and promise of spirit...
Seeping also into the positivity of humanity:
Their throats an open tomb, hands idle, bellowing and lashing as a compounding cut splintering and suffocating the will to persevere.
Amplifying anger, festering frustration.
Hosting themselves as the infinite plague inside the conscious casket stuck shut—creaking claustrophobia hinging in the mind closed.
An embryonic echo chamber like vat of cancer—the tentacle’s column coalescing the ankle downward as the emptiness embroils into its’ decay.
The faithless sociopathic wrecking ball and chain careening and bound as to the spiritual nuclear reactor mine sweeping about with volatility as desperation of separation futilely drags battered knuckles alongside.
Alone with one's thoughts a luxury from the past; and the right to privacy as elusive as a hope of getting away.
Silence also fleeting as the reality of constant poking, pestering, antagonizing, criticizing, badgering, and harassment, set into the ear as a tangible bloody cemented sound.
Seething as sicknesses and poison are prescribed and administered under the sun as the daily regiment, and suicide stays tucked or brandished as a stone's throw away from the skipping allure of promise and hope.
Nails as chalk outlines go across boards pulling against the hair—scalping the backdrop of a will to survive.
Invisibly pervasive and invasively audible: dialectic lassos plastered as tar around a meshed cobweb perplexing a mental mirage of escape.
Gasping for air; pleading as unseen thoughts go read, reacted, mimicked, and mocked aloud by the interdimensional demons whisking on and off and around the sonar of the shadows' society.
A chip on the shoulder of a dead man's neck into a business casual noose, sank stomach and spinning around as the lifeless prodded piñata.
Swarming, ensuing, and hanging another.
Succumbing to the restless and tireless: The city of the fallen tailspin.
Entombed into questions jarring and tumbling, the crucible of why oh why...
And then sanctity of thought ends into a beckoning beginning...
Revelation, the flesh and bones, and everything surrounding it.
And in reality, another covering protecting its' own.
In Closure, An Enclosure.
Romans 3:13-18
13 “Their throats are open graves;
their tongues practice deceit.”
“The poison of vipers is on their lips.”
14 “Their mouths are full of cursing and bitterness.”
15 “Their feet are swift to shed blood;
16 ruin and misery mark their ways,
17 and the way of peace they do not know.”
18 “There is no fear of God before their eyes.”
Psalm 5:9
For there is no faithfulness in their mouth;
Their inward part is destruction;
Their throat is an open tomb;
They flatter with their tongue.
2 Corinthians 5:2-4
For in this we groan, earnestly desiring to be clothed with our habitation which is from heaven, 3 if indeed, having been clothed, we shall not be found naked. 4 For we who are in this tent groan, being burdened, not because we want to be unclothed, but further clothed, that mortality may be swallowed up by life.
2 Corinthians 5:6 Therefore we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord.