Fools Rush In... Part 1

Poem By Patrick Bateman

What is that sound from the muscle of vitality?
It screams like the winds of October.
Perpetual volumes...ignominous...
Move through the vessels of mass,
Wait at the door of diction and deception,
But are swallowed;
Pushed down into the abyss of rejected sentiments,
Contaminated by the pulse of the maggots!

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