FLESSH

Parasitic, greedy laziness, wrapped in a cheep, soupy, but bloodthirsty instinct - a sync in complete timelessness, born by a rotten fantasy. Dream, in which by realizing his beginning, man begs for a fat ending. Parasite.

Guest and a host, mister Comrade forgets about himself, while crawling towards its hope for healing. Slightly overwhelmed, he stretches out his bloodless, bleeding hands towards a flashy light, which sneakily tears the darkness to fade away, but not now. It is here to expose the cheating, born from a pure truth about a forgotten love, which fly by its burned wings towards darkness o' despair. Failure.

For a moment everything looks finite. Three rays evaporated even the slightest sight of trust, that was long-missing its stunning smell of seven years of youth. Ten out of ten. Wailing and hideous hysteria inadequately reflected every dusty photon beam right through the target. Hit.

Loud, primal push, very concrete, evenly spreads the ash of the burned body towards infinity. Inertia full of itself. At least the road will be straight and quite. A conscience is revealed by memory of integrity, and proudly pulls its young crossed eyes, as a gift for the soul, teared over and over to the right amount of receding matter. Not big, but at least the last human ... Blast.