Imagine a loved one sitting in front of you, on a furnace boiling all the sins you've ever done.
Lest that man/woman hold a gun up to your head.
Loves she/he not.
Imagine them with three heads, of which one is that of a roach.
Would you love them?
Imagine them dancing with you, like a blazing fire, or the cool breeze, or the waves of the ocean.
Their eyes, black and white with the deeds of the others.
Moths with eyelids for wings envelop around the flame of the bulb that lit up in his mind.
For it always lights up, when a sin is done.
An orderly peasant thought himself a condemner, as if.
A ranch of pigs and lambs, slaughtered, the buzzing of flies over decayed flesh filling his ears, yet the stench making his mouth water.
Encased in a closed wooden space, given enough time to accept what is not and what is.
A box of every lie everyone has ever told, along with the tongues they used.
Hands coming out of the walls, leaving you to wonder who's hand is who's.
The endless ringing of silence in your ears finally stops, as true silence has come.
Imagine a loved one, who's head is shaped like a deformed pear, smiling at you, as a tear drops from their eye.
The barrel of a gun next to their head...
Imagine walking across someone on the street, reciting to you the book of revelation, as he tears his skin off and dies a mumbling skeleton.
A foggy street of those you once called friends and neighbors.
An ocean of fish that no longer sink.
...And the trigger gets pulled.
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