hunt

Like poorly manufactured wax
Melting into obscurity with the first taste of flame
There lies, the core of society
The heathen hopeless
Grasping at icicle dreams in the summer salvation
The quick wit no shits
Always looking for happiness so far from it
The microwavable sog-savorers
Endlessly unsatisfied
Reminiscent of vampire wonder lust
The unquenchable unattainable possessive blood hunt
Hardly a choice required
This Pavlovian parasitic panorama of patheticness
A ritualistic pseudo voodoo
The growing plague of human crack rocks