Guys
Dante is fucking death

A man drifts down the gutter.
Numerous items dig into the man’s back.
A clock that belonged to a to him.
A compass that belonged to a fish.
A tuna can that belonged to a retard.
A cigarette that belonged to a witness.
These countless instruments of harm are the karma he bore.

I know that on the day of my final agony,
You will be there, lying in my sheets, O sorrow,
So that you might once again attempt to enter my heart

Just like that, the man sank into oblivion—in black silence

game... over...