Even though you have pounded my eyes into salt. Even though you have buried me in this shallow grave my arm, my shoulder still rest free, above this loamy soil morning dew still sparkles on my black plastic shroud. Pounding my eyes to salt does not blind me. For me, you are that drunk in the corner throwing up on your shoes. You think, your slop glimmers in moonlight. Your nothing has killed me. Before my dead eyes your promises, your dreams are locusts filling the sky. Your pointless harvest is coming. Your nothing will add to nothing. Luckily, your end is beginning are you ready, for it to arrive?
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