Riddle XXXXVI

Lonely redemption,

     Black million endless contemptuous tombstones in rubble miles of hatred is the fragrance the winds adapt and it's no longer a wondering black satellite sheep, A defiant cruel future secret kept by the requiem breath reeks of shit council self masculinity or monetarily entitled; Inhumanity must be more than momentarily attempting to mansplain the context of their action inaction nurtured context ever adapting thirst. Apparently G-d inspired this dream we're live'n perverted existence in.

In lieu of,
Adoring 'miracle dreams,'
While the news (un)real is running!