The Epochal Sophisticated Scentence

She could remember how much pain, which made her vomit accusations, they'd brought her soiled, battered, hell-bitten heart and rugged, lanky body; He recalls watching them, disgusted to a point of suiside but chained to the liability of pure hatred and worship of his own life, selfishly looking away from the woman as wolfs and men went rabid of a slate of meat; they remember, they reminis on the power they shoved down eachothers throats, growling with much anger and austere greed to steal life from the restless and devour their take, their over take, their meal for the hour; of swiftness they gagged on their own desire to kill and maim and avoided eyes, which aren't capable of viewing eachother, in fact- they crawl and worm on top of one another like a black ball of sickly maggots, but their souless eyes and gutteral growls portray their animalistic characteristics of Hell; they hear her pleas, they listen and plead back with mock sympathy; he still avoids watching, only turning his head to his feet which are no longer resembling a foot, it resembles his chewed up soul; he knows he's next.