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Drewsif Stalin's Musical Endeavors
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Languish
Cast into your own hell. Amorphous vault of calamity. A world without sleep, where metaphor ceases to be, a world where your cruelest dreams burst forth to reality. Ultra violence and heartache witnessed repeatedly. Unrelenting torment actualized.
Damned to experience absolute malign.
But how can you live with yourself knowing you've damned a man? How can you continue to exist with his blood on your hands?
I will weep for this tortured soul. No retreat from this horrid hole.
Time unravels, a frayed enigma.
I am no longer sane, I am the personification of inhumane.
It takes a special kind of man to do what I've done. To banish a man to eternal pain. Pleading for an unobtainable exodus.
He turns to me, abjectly resigned. His skin weathered to pale, stained leather. He opens his arid, deformed mouth and laments: isn't three years enough? I've regressed to deformity, I've befriended my agony.
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