The Manchester Massacre

frosty rose

We’ll freeze;

obliterate his hatred

with a keg of sharper, longer nails?

Save the rose, instead,  before she falls.

Freeze the place where he inbreeds.

Encapsulate his cousins, conjugal.

This fruit fly seeks the closest mate to seed.

Degenerate, cares not where useless fate

is spread. But history has told before

there’s no Valhalla for his frozen soul.

His seed will fail. His head consumed with hate.

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Rantings Of A Third Kind

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