• Guns that spit death through flashes and bangs.
    The sound of swords unsheathed, cleaving, and carving...
    The hum of sorrow manifested in the emptying human husks...
    And an intangible song, crimson in color spewing beauty.
    The red soon reflects the clear image of horror and majesty.
    I see a shallow pit and as I stare I see a hole...
    The pit that tunnels down into another mask covered pit.
    We are so empty, that we will fill them with sorrow and lust...
    We call upon happiness, love, and all things meaningful...
    But to fill this pit, we will take away other people's joy.
    As we harm others we start to feel real...
    The brief invincibility followed by the realization that we are nothing...
    Then we start again.
    Even as I sit contemplating this, I won't stop.
    Although I'll be hollow, for a time I feel full.
    I'll always be able to feed...