The great
silence, the maniacal jester of acceptance
Even when
offered the bargain is an illusion
The year
is ending, let it end, let us no longer pretend
The war
is not occurring, the destruction is not eminent
(I see) death
and I have already shaken hands
Let lose
the politeness of mannered smiles
In
recognition of the grand arrangement
The Argonauts
and the sea-going wayfarers of yester year
Have
plotted the coordinates of such astral confluence to this point now
Harbingers
crow at us with dusty larynxes
(I
embrace) this version of demise with flush cheeks
To sense
the Fire upon my skin as we choose to burn
Humanity
to cinders for this absolutism
Perdition
be not there; it be here
This is
an illusion we taught ourselves to conceptualize what we are not
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