I tilt my face into the eye of this bold and angry tempest I look for my moral tale in the storm the rain.. engineering my words My end is yet unknown, as yet flowing stagnant in the squall I'll write to the sound of my soul twisting round in this apex of a life.. I can't recall
*as I write this.. we under a tornado warning in my area. Another twist to this unknown quarantine sentience.
The gods of fate are not appeased.. by the people who put themselves before their humanity.
I fear the greed and transcript of this president.. will write us into our early graves