This sword writhes in my hand. I sit here well past midnight in this overly familiar coffee shop. I use to call this place home and dance with the waitresses. 

The whirlwind of my thoughts rip into the Aethers. The fires of my passions burn pure in yod. The waters of my heart crash on the shores of Binah.  The avalanches of my feet stand strong at the gates of Kether.

Litlith slithers around me playing her sickly games. The Sephera collide around me as the lonely madness threatens to consume me. I, the exorcist, has fallen into the bone crusade. I lost the fight and now I battle for my life. The web had drawn taunt. The enemy tightens his grip around my neck. My breath slowly escapes my mouth as I lay on the ground trembling. I am old and tired and this war goes on never ending. 

I am a general yet I am so weak. The fight didn’t go the way I expected, who is going to win?

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