Suicide Hymn IV

There is an abundant amount of beauty in this world,
Like animals that can fly or create tracks in the snow,
The fresh flowering scent that overwhelms in the spring,
Or the elite attractive light refracted through a prism.

These arrogant addictions are nothing but fiction.

The light of which I speak changes the mold,
Each day is a memory long lost ago,
erosion, explosions, a greedy promotion,
Man is its own self weakening foe.

To break the night horror we must bleed out the sore.

Glorious battles that slow down the cancer are never fully cut from the core,
These cranking devices are double edged vices; Dioxide damages the soul,
The opprobrium destroys me from being so different sometimes I go without talk,
And for being so quiet it starts up a riot of mass medial fragmented scorn.

This species is a puss ridden boil, oozing all over this beautiful planet.
It would be better if we all were extinct.