Gather 'round crooked sinners, this is all that is and ever shall be

As the pestilence moon scatters its disease around the dead ghost town, delusional and rabid men and woman alike gather around the deep pit from which the blood did pour. The air, it burns my fragile ear holes so a child is shoved down to cure my aliment. GOD bless her. 

My hands, they are dirty. Wash them in red bodily fluids. They grow crusted and dry. Feels good. Take a deep breath. Inhale the frankincense and waxy feeling of a cold death. Worry not, the sulfur fumes are to do more harm to those who choose the thorny path of doom. Hold my hand along the way. Do not weep. Hold the tears inside. Let them burst like a broken dam when the destination has been reached. Forget not my voice nor words, but remove the memory from your brain of the one who have spoken these words of damnation.

Enjoy this nightmare while it lasts.