a slow march to hell
This generic world
like weeds in a garden of souls
corrupting and infesting and overpopulating
tainting and infecting over all of the other auras and energies
draining the soil of emotions, of nutrients, of substance
robbing everyone else of growth
Roots entangling through every life
like thieves, robbing from us: who we are
ensnaring our dreams, our thoughts, our minds
in this experimental hell
until all of us are turned into snails
drones slowly marching to hell
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