My head broke, sorry… That’s how I should feel anyway!

A cliff is to the unaffected a mass of rock on the visceral edge of an ocean, a mere colossal of nature’s majesty

To the darkly inspired a cliff represents what nobody wants to accept, an end of the line that for the falling body of flesh is a final requiem, a fatality of celebration for all the wrongly minded sections of humanities anti-social tendencies

Some would rail for the logical conclusion of an age at the failure of a heart to pump blood around the thing that maintains the functionality of a brain, to take to a point of marriage, kids and all that seems to be the pursuit of all that tow the withered line

But the sub culture of something less fluffy yearns for a 1000ft drop after no such luck in the hunt to take what normal folk want, a sub nature of self loathing that smiles on the air as death in a raincoat waves from the oh so sunny British coast

What dreams may deliver the damned as visions of utopia form in the stains of unwanted willing to perform the acts that sociality demands, a sheep amongst the crowd has uniformity for protection as the unusual runs scared in the woods of unstable tides from the waters of expected norm and the boring hordes friggin merry march

I am not the one to watch but the thing that haunts you all in what places you dare not roam, a ghost of illusions of that imagined from the minds most corrupted caverns, a sinister thought of such power that all who feel it have both fear and respect for the cruelty it has in one mere fibre as the other sings creative tunes to twist the sanity of all others in ways only hell can enjoy

Alas my friends, alias and comrades in dreams, we are the nightmares to raise to flames the enemies ideals of taking over our kingdoms of ash that to all but us serve as poison of means to put the heat of a thousand peppered daggers though the skin and beyond as we cast them into what we know to be everyday but the fools around hath no such consideration for the refined pain we pour on cereal in the morning and devour with remorseless spoons formed of the bones of our still alive rivals

I am the damned, we are the flood, all who challenge us will become what mud we tread upon to get to the bar where drinks flow steady and much pleasure is to be had

As I pick my teeth with the dagger in my back, whilst sitting in the easy chair where life once sat!

Who said depression was not positively invibed!!

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