Bone Sparks

cold ogre universe engulf tender stars spit out the bones-see the sparks... everyone looks toward the sky says how pretty they are complimenting the slaughter how endearing and naive. Pot black sky means the ogre is idling, fattened by star fillets, it sleeps. New stars are born, honed with their shine but when ogre awakens the bone sparks will fly once again- Birth and slaughter hungry and saited pinwheels of time turns oasis to wastland: This is the natural course of things, purity always ravaged by green toothed savage while the masses chew on the cool glass of indifference... whispering bloody lipped to the ID, "glad its not me." how endearing and stupid can these IDiots be.