Without our spirit we are nothing, what composes our life, is simply the product, of ghosts and demons, great beasts, entities, the heavens high in the sky, all of these things, pulling strings, it’s an intricately designed, set of chemical reactions, when the wolf hungers, he goes to hunt, a good Samaritan, doing something good, does he expect nothing, but it looks gross, and it’s against nature, unless he was yearning, for those pearly gates, between a beautiful lady's legs, so much, is simply connections, the hive mind, that grand computer, the orchestra starts playing, and the fat lady sings, the sun and the moon, all our ugly reflections, it drives all our emotions, astrology is such a frightful thing, so much is dictated by the heavens, this is why I serve the night sky, and the abyss, just to get away from the light, and be comfortable, with being ugly inside, no one likes to look at fate, their whole life laid out before them, saying hmm, so it only amounted to this, all the stars in the sky, at least let me have hope, that weeds can escape the earth and flourish, consume all life, nourish on corpses, but truth that grand mountain echoes out, we are nothing but worms wriggling, puppets on a string…

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.