America

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She may be my birthplace,

but she is not my Origin.

She may house me, but she is not my Home.

She is young, new, but not untouched by Death. 

The Angel of Death has swallowed her whole.

She rots quickly in a grave of her own making;

poisoned, while lying alone in her own vomit.

She worships herself on a shrine of perverseness and desolation.

She digresses to absolute nothingness,

stranded in a barren wasteland,

accompanied only by her vanity.

She is "politically correct" but

she is "God abandoned"

She wraps herself in a shroud of sin,

buries herself in her confusion, 

and lies with her idols.

Those who hold hope for her should lose it

and prepare themselves for fire.

She may be my birthplace, but

she is not my Origin.

She may house me, but

she is not my Home.

The Angel of Death has swallowed her.


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