MOUZERON

I am the horizon
you ride towards, the thing you can never lasso

I am also what surrounds you:
my brain
scattered with your
tincans, bones, empty shells,
the litter of your invasions.

I am the space you desecrate
as you pass through.

Now there is only primal hatred. Hatred that festers and grows without care, without feelings, without thought, without plan, without reason. Hatred which reaches out and destroys.

Her eyes are glazed and icy, staring beyond those she tries to kill. Her Lips part and the sounds which echo forth are garbled and inhuman. Hot boiling blood rushes from the earth’s open wounds. It’s skin fractures and cracks… And if a world could cry, it surely would.