barren, first, the golden nest. the budding breast. bloated with mystical imaginary potential that paused in glory with thoughts of ghosts, fled. the ebbing, unknown wound. the disfigured prison of resonant debauchery; seeping through cracks, corroded with mold. blissfully ignorant insanity. misled prayers for sunshine in the hopeless, godless cathedral of rapid time. like a tsunami of death, a roaring river of blood. drowning the life out of all that was good.