here, a wordless life will suffice; this world of nods and knives, knot-knuckle fists satiated by veins full

of ice. barbed stares bounce back neon glares, unblinking eyes hiding an angry ocean beneath, a maelstrom of seething rage best expressed when a hidden blade's unsheathed. The night never dies, its nocturnal spectrum soaks in, giving color to a culture so rotten it shames the old city Sodom. here god lives. he who loves few, kills many more, does not grant miracles or wishes. god, whom every bullet and fist misses. and he, the other, the outsider, abandoned and empty of everything aside oedipal urges churning within. a grim specter of a man, not even Beauty incarnate can save him from god's plan. the blur permeates deeper into his mind with tumorous intentions, tearing away the notion that free will exists. A fate awaits, the end sits on a sharpened edge. the purples and blues and reddish, hateful hues imbue a trance, a unalterable vision of vengeance leading to a deadly midnight dance. A fight against fate realized. In the end, everyone deserving dies; a destiny of death,

each murder melodically mourned in elegy in a club of quiet angels. here god lives, his sword again hid, and though in this event he never did, remember, only god forgives.