Trigger Words

Confession

I confess my sins father, even though I ignore yours. Your killings, wars, evil attributes, lack of covenant fulfillments. All lawyers should unite and have you deliver your confession. My confession is that which remains in the corpses of men, when their hearts melt…so do their secrets. I care not for worms to be my sole audience. Give confession! Give! No confession allowed for reptiles. No confession allowed for children.

My confession is more like an accusation. Does that make me evil?

Quake

My heart QUAKES like a house in China, destroying my foundations with the catalyst of my own ideas. My Mind QUAKES at the sound of bliss, like when a child enjoys his new toy. My feet QUAKE when the Earth is calm, quiet and serene. My legs QUAKE when I enter the house of my love, not afterwards. I QUAKE in my head, because I’m expected to. I’d rather sleep. There is no QUAKE in my dreams, no heavens in motion, and not natural disasters.

Words QUAKE with permutations. DOG=GOD. GDO=GDO. ODG=ODG.

Bullet

Bullet in the head. That’s what she said. I give a shout out to the living brain-dead. I ain’t on a pedestal, rocking my views, knowing only a few mean anything to a few. A bullet can substitute for a brain sometimes. Metal logic is healthier for the souls of men, than animal logic. Bullets is short for bulletin-an announcement of the brand new paradigm, where brains are thrown at each other, and brains are bought in stores, and brains come multi-packed in small boxes and brains are weapons: mini-Grim Reapers, except he has no scythe but a fucking bullet.