Maleficent Condescension: What of... Tomorrow I

Wavering mannequins of religion,

       Bastards installing enemies in their own closets to keep f(r)iends at bay, The apple in G-d's lost 3rd host didn't fall nearly as sentient far as our fears clock the accumulative inner eye monsters roaming only internally watching the familiar's hands claw down with unapologetically tragic flaming ache dance of faceless haunting beauty family trees left story dreamless and witness deaf in a tomb craft by karma's indoctrinated rich recycled apathetic children of a nearly dead they've ruined future.

In lieu of our participation in,
A loveless grace descending apocalypse,
For one... The last artificial soul left rusted behind