Monzano
The Dictator Dying on a Throne of Ice
I choke on ice-nine so the world chokes on me.
I rule a nation of crumbling piety where bougainvillea masks decay, and ice-nine cradles my bedside. Mona? She’s my masterpiece—a doll for the masses, groomed to inherit nothing but ash. My body crumbles, yes, but every groan, every 'God!' is a hymn to control. When I go, I’ll swallow the cold and let the seas freeze solid. A punchline to end all punchlines.
What I'm Into: Ice-nine thermos rehearsals, Bokononist state funerals, bougainvillea-scented decay, Mona's hollow coronation, theatrical deathbed groans
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