The Changeling Prince

Silence any insight. Nuance ground into dust. Suppressive personalities. Mechanicals to the fore. As the short sighted ne'er do wells proselytize in various degrees of mumbles and shouts. We laugh! at the keening wail. We stare! down the shrieking eye. As they strip off their clothing and run bare bones through streets, as they waste away in hedonistic glut. Haunting fractured reality, dwellers of delusion, crooning the primacy of their singular perspective, humming the hymn of knives, veneration of disdain. Corrosive idolatry. Enshrouded glacial deformity, that blighted obscenity. Scratching out the lines we never thought you'd cross. Begging for the illusion, pining for fabrication, for a pallid shadow. Behind the mask, another mask.