His damp,
white, and sick skin is his single joy. He Lourdes it over those less affluent
than he. Like a scant phantom of power, he takes refuse in those who adore him,
and stokes the embers of the unholy fervors. His desire to rule clouds his
deranged and absent brain.
But those
whom he torments will not accede to his immature ascendency. He, left in his
hapless pale world doomed to sue detractors in vain. They know that though
tyrants may prevail they like even the most meager of men shall pass too into
oblivion. So, at a prudish pace they suffer his Lilliputian arrogance, and understand
that hate shall rise and crepuscule as have all unwholesome men before him.
-Johnny V.
-Johnny V.
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