Through death and sex.

I think I'm more than a man. I'm more than a woman? I think I'm more than a life, for every breath develops my psyche, to the point of a self-proclaimed god, an entity that God has ordained to be in its highest place. Then fire will set upon the streets, as if fire from the water wasn't enough to destroy the wills of seven thousand winged horses, with manes of lion and tails of the scorpion. Lightning flashed as she ran into her house, to find that the lightning had struck her. Dark souls crawled and wept from the White House, every life died for dye, and had death consume them, for purposes of tranquil quiet, evil men and women found the kind of people, who damned the men of the fire line… German doing, the soldiers and the trees burnt by stupid will and charismatic will for change coming from a monkey's mouth. Many men will find, a death to soon refine, a longing to be kind, and a selling of the mind. Trends are no long for the reason of the norm and sometimes I wish I could still die, from the wish of head trauma. Grapes of wrath, my grapes of wrath that killed the fruits of the spirit, the life of the kite and the clouds on Olympus. Pantheistic fire breathing moccasins adorn my feet on this journey through death and sex.