The Tragedy of Gracelessness

burned down silence; scoped down my guilty finger tips on your warm aching bones that had so been collapsed by a child into our faint abyssal nothingness that i had released. our child. bread by your nurture; your perfect conditions - 37° pure in its own ignorance, melting down in it's father's unearthly demise Justification allows purpose And so I allowed oceans to be pulled apart Something so mighty i told you Comprehension of power that allowed a devil's excavation through our reflective, blue paradise, to unearth a barren land. Now still innocent in intention this big, round, white and black baby's head sets on; destined for 14 over appreciated destructions.