Every hurricane is a flashback to our souls saying fool I made you and this is what I get. You sit here and destroy all my creations for the sake of humanity. You are the pessimistic roaches I burn and rid myself of that leave residue on my fingertips. So fool I ask you. What is your humanity compared to the natural order and preservations to things I strive for in which my lands flourish? The sky shrieks of one of your odors; that resemble the woven cloth fabricating the stories of the past present and near future and right it reads the history of bloodshed. You bleed from the gates of Eden and I am left here to consume this liquid that makes love to my jaws.as I am intoxicated with this empacable truth. Every earthquake is a reminder of our contamination on this earth that states we are a gift upon these lands and what can be given can also be taking away. Every tsunami is a chemical force sent to bleach out our mistakes and reawait another stain by us and wash away our clones. Every tornado is an orgasm waiting to happen as you await the redemption and tribute that is due to your owners. You tire of simple pleasures in your fingers that are attached to your palms lubricating the truth of your dormant self, which courses in between your gates of Eden. You await the day to open your gates of heaven and let the devil in for the sake being ravaged and to rectify the wrongs of this microcosm. There is no more Adam and Eve. The fury of a woman scorned isn’t measurable. The maelstrom of devastation is unbound. She might as well be a descendant of Poseidon and Mother Nature herself. The reincarnate of calamity. Worse than any furian. So every time there is a blood sky, you sit there and cry for what the woven fabrics indicate. So you bleed out insecurities which you let dry to show your confidence and undisputed strength like a raging storm periodically. Only to cycle all over… again.