The bone-dry apple of my ludicrous eye, can you perhaps pause yourself amidst this gun-enthused seal-the-deal bullet-pushed activity
You seem like a man who never thinks to stop at all – simmer and start to bleed these mysterious people til gangrene and disposed of

And three bodies begin to rise to the lesser heavens below – hell hath no fury like a villainous criminal with pitchforks enflamed and tossed on their beneficial arrival

This devil does care and he will paralyse their hungry sins and feed their minds blasphemous atop mirror-imaged reality
Til maniacally aware

When we came and created our very own torture chair to sit and see…