Said to be soulless, but it’s within me. Denounced as emotionless, but I feel it. Oxygen that causes a horrific burning sensation continuously seeping through the abrasions of a broken skin. Scars, scrapes, cuts and bloody bloodless wounds. Bruises the color of a flag we’re supposed to represent, but then individually oppressed against closed ears but my vision does hear.
The hopes, the dreams and loves—They once lived like you within a structured being, but this is a structure where the decks stacked AGAINST LIVING. The murderers of supposed murderers that cheat the system and shun you with a jokerous face. Yeah, not everyone’s built for guilt, but that’s the place where the still of life still has beauty, although fading fast being eaten around the edges by the coming entropy,—Dead as I am—I live and put this existence to shame. No forest, no ground, no sky, just me inside the elements of myself. No canvas exists that can add to this subjection; death frames itself.
To acknowledge the truth is not a striving, it’s an immediate arrival, but…. THEY believe in torture and death before that truth.. Their truth, I wish to burn no more.