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Prologue: |
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Mother, you'll be pleased to know that I am home again under the trees. |
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In divine nature, of where I forever longed return throughout my great despondence. |
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My entire youth, I engulfed myself in the ramblings of Milton, Shelley, Nietzsche and Eliot. |
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It is of credit to such minds for my romantic return to the earth and soil. |
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I no longer asphyxiate on city smog or contradicted ideals. |
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In fact, I am no longer mandated to respire at all. |
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The roots hold me tight now under this tranquil oak and hydration is unremitting. |
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For I left this earth. |
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I left this earth and its fragile paradigm, its seething hate, its feral un-wanting. |
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If thy longing to meet once more begs thee, you can find me in the grove, under the spade and slackened twine. |
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For Satan carries a pitchfork but no rake and hides no remains. |
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This is the end of life |
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The grand disillusionment |
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A final supper for mankind |
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Walk on slain carcass and share this meal with the vultures |
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For you will feed their rabid maws |
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Roaches crawl through skeletal cracks too small for serpents |
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The bones beneath my feet |
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These are the depths of hell |
