The Human Neck

The pangs of death is clutched around the human neck and vehemently refuses to release its chokehold on the most pronounced authors of waste, suffering and distress that the heavens have ever known because the laws of origins is very explicit in its justice codes that partitions no mercy where no mercy is given and this is why he speaks so of women because the candle has burnt down to its base and the stem is rapidly burning away and very soon all traces of a fire will be invariably extinguished and that will be the end of her romantic intrigues with her lover. The wastebasket is overflowing with the bazaar antics of human history and the adequate disposal of it is a burden inherited by the worlds to come that wish not to be reminded of this tragic episode when the pursuits of a lost lot made nothing of a gifted and blessed something and this is why that he speaks so of women because the days of her pretty face will become wrinkled and unattractive with age and all that can then be said of her is what use to be and that the appearance of the present is saturated with too many days numbered and its associated dispatch of pleasures and grief.

The brilliant are rubbish swept away into the dust and the financially lucrative are paupers of a scared trust that means the equivalent of absolute zero under the shadow of the orbiting sun when push comes to shove and the hours of eyesight closes in on the drum. It is a good thing that it all comes to this so that the fresh sunny rays of the newness of life can begin unhindered by a single drop in the bucket that in pride presumes themselves to be the central core of all in one but is actually nothing more than an unsightly blemish tarnishing the picturesque visual scene of the universes and this is why he speaks so of women because his hereditary instincts compels him to do this and not being of a type man to defile the classic coordinates he is apprised to himself to live up to his comportments and caress her belly with the plenty of emotional ointments that soothes her inner being with the wellbeing of his gentle finesses.

There is a waiting list for standing room only in the cradle of the abyss whose domain runs to endless for the mortal has set aside freedom and bliss to make a home of themselves of wrath and contempt and the trophy will be of lost wages for labors earned in the light of an unmindful stroke inflicted upon every neighbor in turn and this is why he speaks so of women because he has seem the fire burning and have amused to entice her heart melt into it for the sensual purpose of seeing her excited body erupt into a blaze of glory torching the furnace of his kindling's only. The heavens have fractured in the accumulation of its denseness and a gulf has been formed that will sweep all orbits into it and in the place of the rupture there will be only the vastness of emptiness that will languish in the midst of a finished work scorned for envy and this is why he speaks so of women because someone has charged her an unfair price for a hairstyle and before the night is over the evidence of this artful work will be in the pike.

The vanished are vanquished and do not even know it as they are too engrossed with wallowing in their self-proclaimed glory and he who has insight has already fixed a judgment onto their yet-to-be that will boil their high minds into the last weeping hours of calamities and when they cheer themselves for a certain measure obtained a horrific glow of plight will hallow out their names and this is why he speaks so of women because her body polish gives him honors and her active mindset he fondles to collar and use it for a stepping stone to those intimate endowments of her flowering. The pinhead has always diligently labored to foster the delusion that it is the center of the earth and has developed a multiplicity of lies to give credence to this abortion, but woe unto the narrow that is reeked of mind because the passageway to entitlements is not bequeathed to the ridiculously blind and this is why he speaks so of women because the multitude is the accumulative sum of the bent woefully out of shape and the clinically undone that will not even so much as narrowly escape.