Scream! At the piles of rust!
Scream! At the heaps of misery you created!
Scream! At the brittle bones you left to dry in the sun!
Scream! At the corpses left hanging from the string of so-called sin!
You brought the beast out of the cage!
You let it kill the oppressed!
And now you try to feed it more!
Scream! At your inhumanity!
this life is suffocating me.
my skin is not my own and
my flesh is not my own and
my bones are not my own and
my face is not my own and
what is the meaning of it all, anywho?
is it part of some grand scheme, some astral plot
to make us whole again
some day far from now?
perhaps, on the contrary, there is nothing;
are we born simply to exist?
there is a crack in the eye of man
like glass, the light in the fracture
is split like the millions who came before it
never to reform
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