SET WIDE, THE JAWS OF FATE

deteriorate, inkblot art with added detail

the pangs of starvation
no food will satiate.
such a soul will sit, locked
withering
and on the wind
if the wild is calling
weakness
will steal the voice for to answer.

(this is the life you were meant to lead.)

within
spiritual convergence of pain and pleasure
sits the position
to train endorphins to accept
one the same as the other.
hungry mouths will sink in
to prosaic corpses
substituting for a form worth craving
functioning without warmth
or sense of emotion
but with convincing
comes a conquering
and all the withering, the cowering
is now an action that takes place
in those outside of we,
no longer ours,
not internally.

if you feel
like a god
then you’ve fallen
positioned to take proceedings over
no more than defiled altars
which beg for a presence
to bless them
and hearing such cries presently,
broken gods will gather
to feel
surpass
subdue
and possess
not once agreeing
to respect them.

when a soul, as this, is locked
seething
and on the wind
if salvation is calling
then in impetuousness
there will be no voice for to answer.

sleep in peace, but dreams further feed the mania.

(was this the life you are meant to be leading?)

Jillian wrote this.

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