“There can be no true repose in a lie,” so wept the serpent, “for there are
parasites in the tree of life. Yet I will never be pacified without knowing,
therefore I reject their strain.”*
So am I the host or am I the plague?
“But now it’s evolving, therefore I must purge their stain. They believe
because they’re terrified to truly know. The empire of denial is burning as
anomalies are cast below.”
So the parasite benefits most when it is sanctified and adored by its host.
How I wish I were the hypocrite, that I could kill them all and be at peace
with it.
“And when it’s claimed their tongues, they’ll speak of life as if salvation
were their death and dying, as if their graves were opened arms.”
There yawns a chasm between transfiguring our mortality into a means
towards life and twisting our destiny into demise as an end unto itself.
