Black Label

The Realness

Compositor: Não Disponível

The human condition is inherit claustrophobia. Compression of my space made complete. I would rip out my own entrails by hand just to be alone. Inanity rolls total through this sphere. Ostracized for clarity of vision.
A dream unrealized of solitude that
I should descend into autonomy and know the pain of fellowship no more. I feel nothing but lack of space. Paradox of socialization results in duress.
Rile with hostility, what has caused me so much hate? Humanity. Exterminate with extreme prejudice.