feelings

War trotted.
The limbed lighthouse trudged through crimson waters.
Its midnight eyes glared at the equestrian city in stalemate.
War galloped.
Two centaurs jousted for dead territory.
Humans upon horseback pleaded retreat, bracing in embrace.
Our frayed city hung from a Lance.
The victorious empire craned us closer for the raid.
Automaton onslaught.
Hysterical flesh ruptured from the Trojan Stomach.
Eulogies bubbled to a sky sewn shut.
Fuel flooded the streets, metal military's feast.
War is sustained.
Below, Hell's trials of our spilled souls;
Social Reservation served damnation-
Poor popularity granting no arms, no eyes.
My judgement is final.
O Falling Angel.
About time you arrived.
War ends with you.

:(

:)