bury the hatchet
dust to dust, ashes to ashes. an arrangement of words that i always keep like a religion inside. a sentence sent from head anytime this chest need to be satisfied. a temporary pleasure for this stretched muscles.
but a word is nothing without an act. and here’s where the problem waits for my hands to touch. it’s way too far to say that i have adequate discreetness to measure the balance. it’s really hard for a man like me to find the appropriate dust, to find the appropriate ashes.
it’s impossible for me to kill em all, cos there’s no single men related to me that they’ve killed. although it would be an honor for me to have such legalization. i will try to execute it as clean as possible, as fast as possible. flawless like gloves, silent like a suppressor, and lethal like a .45 blown without a distance.
ah, if only a sweet blood could ever extinguish this desire. cos mankind will never say enough.
