The dark crow man sits and stares into the oblivion into cold into nothingness; it's snowing in his mind. He's created himself in his own image. Lust held for him means naught, a knock on the door brings no smile to his cruel lips; the welcome in a woman's eyes holds nothing for him. Alone on his haunches the hair raises on the back of his neck. His dead eyes pierce the night. As his gaze falls down on the city it fills him the method ascertained, conviction. He knows what to do and moves to commit the deed.
The sore on the edge of your mouth it mirror the ones on your arm of black tar you've known the ripping. And I've seen you pissing your condition into the dirt. I know you don't want to live in the dirt you want to know nothing but dirt you know you can't beat weakness. Kill the flux. Stretched to breaking an obscene canvas on a stretcher of parasitism. You piece of shit I won't say your name but I will say this - FUCK OFF AND DIE (sooner the better). You've shot out your eyes but I'm seeing that you cannot feel anything of worth. Know that you've pissed life away, lost in your narcotic dreams. Heart pumping futile shit through your veins. Why does it bother? I want to punch in your sunken face and see your dusty blood smear through the air in a polluted crimson arc,splattering in a useless pattern on the concrete. Moribund.
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