stengah

lacerating pains of degeneration speed through your, trembling mind, still, in machine-like strife you gain another mile, the temporary elusive goal: to reach the solace, to, feed once more, upon the synthetic reaper of loss. no matter the, outcome. no matter the cost, cold and stinging needs tearing through the halls, of your defiled, flesh made temple with its closing, walls, still you claim the worshippers pose and you bow. you, kneel, control: once superior, now a docile pet at chaos', feet, pulling the leash as it trails the scent to where all, hurt recedes, your past a blurry patch in mind, your future once;, now thin dreams filed, toward the lights of need you strive - to drink into, your vein the shine, beaten to the unforgiving ground. lashed into, submission, - by the inner starving demon. by its unrelenting, hand, still you claim the worshippers pose and you bow. you, kneel to the syringe, answering only to authorities of sedation. their, calls the only ones heeded, a worn out soldier touched by their contagion. a, battered drone at their feet, you're the one betrayed. an outcast set afire by your, inner war, your burning self so far astray. a combustion fanned, from within your core