The Impersonator

Image by Joost J. Bakker IJmuiden via Flickr

It is the recombination theory of all things. It is the nanotechnology of treyarch that seem to be boundless and wide-gap in the white hole of tiny golf course that could mean everything in the universe to you as you yourself have known life and its compulsive box that closes the last breath of your worthless life in a millisecond. It swallows the very evaporation of air of planet called Earth as one of its tit-feeding mother.

Image by Ryan Somma via Flickr

In other words, it is only fate that seem to fathom like a burning tire rolling on its own mumbles of apocalyptic destruction, poking, and looking for the death of its kinetic energy. It needs to stop and let out the last gasp of air and bellow the animalistic noise of grinding screeches and groans. It cannot no longer impersonate in your presence; it only need to fill the vast void of never ending dilemma of puke and its secretion matters of wonder. It is anarchic at best in the entropy of abhorrence and lust pursuit of drunk theology that bumps and moves in its empowerment beyond a man’s destiny and control.

Image by emdot via Flickr

It is adrenaline rush at the maximum output of deadly weaponization in its double-barrel straight out from Mephistopheles’s hell and fire lake of spluttering ghost that never seem to disappear nor appear in its outcast shadow of Gate’s hell. It is the terrorist at its finest brewery of peak of black slaughter that only the blood of zombies can fill its pot laden with high intensity of boiling blood that burn your skin as easily as jello being cut with a dull kitchen knife. The word of mouth is an implosion itself. It has no love nor the familiarity of sweetness draped with emotions. It only acknowledge the filth of excrement that pollute a fire lair higher than dragon’s reach of lagoon sky.

Image by 3zooz Photography™ In Crazy World <3 via Flickr

So am I truly, and indeed in its utmost respect of mental retardation filled by cell blocks, crazy?