with a sickle at hand, trying to cut through all of the endless shifting of flora and fauna in their heads,
and arrive at a clearing expecting to find a land free from suffering.
instead, they are met with emptiness, and the only tool left is rage which in these times, is considered to be a disgrace and inhumane only to be washed over and shrunk with the mundane alum of modernity.
but men need to swallow that fury and let it cook everything it touches on the way down.
what’s left will be a man who no longer needs the womb and is done fantasizing about the heavens.