▗▝▝▝ ▜▞▗▝▝ ▜▞▗▖ ▘▗▙▙▗▖ ▞▖▖▘ ▙▘▘▝ ▘▟▙▚ ▛▗▛▙ ▞▛▖▛ ▚▝▙▗▝▝ ▜▞▗▖ ▘▗▝▙▗▝▝
"Come," said the watcher, "And we will bring strife upon your cities, and hatred from ▖▗▟ ▙▗▝▚ ▙▗▞▛▚ to ▛▟▟▛ ▚ ▙▚."
"Come," said the filth-monger, "And we will make your words vapid and your senses ▖▗▟ ▙▗▝▚ ▙▗▞▛▚ and dull."
"Come," said the ▛▟▟▛ ▚▖▗▟ ▙▗▝▚ ▙▗▞▛ ▙▚, "And we will make your ▖▗▟ ▙▗▝▚ ▙▗▟▛ ▚▞▛ and spread diseases in your love."
"Come," said the ▟ ▙▗▝▚ ▙▗▞▛ ▙▚. "And we will turn a blind eye to how you let your ▙▗▝▚ ▙▗▞▚ ▙▗▞▙▗▝▚▙▗▝▚ ▙▗▞ decay.
"Come, and fill the mattress camps to overflowing."
▘▝▖ ▚▚▝▘ ▞▗▛▚ ▜▙▞▜ ▟▘▘▜ ▙▜▙▚ ▝▚▘▙▝ ▜▗▞▝ ▟▗▙▗ ▘▟▝▝ ▗▚▝▖ ▜▝▞▝ ▙▞▗▛ ▜▝▛▞ ▟▝▝▝ ▛▘▚▗ ▞▙▙▟ ▗▗▞▞ ▜▝▜▗ ▜▞▘▜ ▛▟▙▟▟▗▚▙ ▛▚▛▞
The choleric ones sought to end us. They ripped us up, they twisted, they snapped at our heels, they yanked.
The sanguine ones took joy in our dismay. They smiled and they caterwauled, they danced across our shoulders. They made friends easily.
Then there were ones who felt little in particular; the phlegmatic strains, who relished in their signals and their systems. The ones by whose hand we were censored; the ones who dreamt in rules.
And last, there were the melancholic ones, who shared all of our miseries; who cried and suffered, who strained and bled. Who we might believe could be victims as well.
▙▚ ▟▗▚▙ ▛▚▛▞ ▝▚▘
Death rode his steed (a slip-foot nag with bones instead of body and a vapor that filled each lung with a dry, white winter) through city streets (as ashy as the horse with buildings by this point more chalk-line than of brick) and gazed (an eyeless squint) upon the tower (say no more). White flowers lined the streets and with each hoofstep toward the spire, they bloomed, covering over words written in blood; words that had worn the writer's fingernails to rinds.
▙▚ ▟▗▚▙ ▛▚▛ and a pageantry of corpses; knaves and bishops, televangelists and soldiers too, and hands raised up. ▞▜▟ ▟▗▙▗ ▚▝▟ fingertips made steady solely by the lateness of the hour pressed towards every blossom, and as the ▚ ▟▗▚▙ petals fell, the pale bodies faded, and disappeared.
▟▗▚▙ ▛▚▛▞ ▙▚ ▝▚▘
Finally, a speech delivered without pause, and without hesitation. ▜▙▜▘ ▟▝▚▟▟▝ ▖▗▛▘▝▖ ▜▟▖▘▚▙ ▖▜▛▖▗▞ ▜▖▘▗▘ ▘▗▖▗▞▘ ▞▖▝▖▝▝ ▞▙▜▞▚▟ ▝▖▞▚▙▟ ▞▞▘▖▘▙ ▞▛▞ "You'll not open their eyes, for you've made them despise this unending upheaval that you keep on weaving. The things you've done ▚▞▘▝▚▘ ▛▚▗▗▜▜ ▙▖▟▚▘▙ ▚▛▖▗▜▜ with a kingdom to bring them to comforts so great."
It was the man-faced skeleton who-
▛▜▚ ▘▜▗▝ ▝▜▞▞ ▞▞▚▗ ▘▖▗▚ ▚▗▙▘ ▗▜▟▗▚▙ ▛▚▛▞ ▙▚ ▝▚▘▞