Messing-up

On the way out and messing it all up. What a waste. Incomers would be very very busy cleaning all this bloody stinking mess. They're out to kill me! you blast. They 're not. You've been long dead. You smell but you can't smell yourself. You see but you never see your true self. You low-pitched zombie. You're dead but absolutely you're walking. Vultures are salivating. You're giving so much down payment in cold cash. Are you ready for the end game? Just recall the shouting, cursing jueteng lord convicted rapist in the not too distant past. Yours will be worse than that. It will be eerily gory without any trace or noise. Harden not your steely cold heart, there still an ounce of pity left. But no, you will surely fight it out. Even as you are already dead in the cold. You're doing fine big wooly bully. Can't wait to greet you along the node of a downturn spiral. This is hearsay. Yours always and ever, in Prada.