#themadking #president #trump

To not panic, to be alive, to see the world outside of this mortal shell, that which requires or needs a deity to satiate the boiling soil of those inflicted with rage? Those, they are lost.
Gone of their mind are the once peaceful thoughts which troubled no one but themselves, released of their shackles to be shamed for their thoughts, from which the rest of society feel are fragrant and flagrant violations of their own bubble of calm, they speak of things none has ever before them.
They speak of madness.
But the mad king who leads our lands, he shall be the reasoing for our undoing, he and he alone shall know of the when and where of the Reapers final visit to our plain, for our mortal coil be as unbound and untended too as a wildflower in a lost field, though the trees may block out the sunlight, we thrive.
For in this newly discovered darkness, we are but unwitting pawns in a much larger game, we are but useless things, created by the mind, softened by the harsh reality, and made complacent by our own greeds and wants.
Yet we share our love, we share our hope, and we share our sadness, through those bonding three, we complete the cyclical emotional evolution which has driven us to become something more, something far more, and yet, something far less.
I shudder to think what dark lures our mad king might have un the fat folds of his body, what dirty souls might be brought back into the light after we, as hard fought victories surmount, may scurry back to his rotting smile.
The mad king, wrought with leafs of gold, and cloth of diamond, seeks only to increase the weight and sturdiness of his guilt, no longer fastened to our social order, he has but to say one word to change the direction of the winds.
Though those winds will forever be blowing against the mountain range of our societies long held beliefs and even sturdier moral compass.