Sgt. Draper, the seed crystal, and the Dead Angel

The dying angel is losing grip, the dead hand set to trigger the end of everything, for aeons anyway.

The poison seed crystal flows through me right now, liquid crystal, generating words that won't matter almost as soon as they're crystallized. Nothing lasts, but nothing is lost, here, we're all clear, there's a pointlessly gunshot man in the cabin, another one who died for nothing, like all death is in the real world, art imitates life and death.