They cry out in throngs, broken shards
Distant reflections, abstract glimpses of hope
Eyes. Ears. Palms. Flashes of flesh.
Contorting, twisting, possessive tumors
In the womb of my mind, stretching
Replacing my thoughts, contorting my dreams
Demanding life as tribute for their brutality
Their repetitive oral assaults that still echo within
Angrily slamming their tightly clenched fists
Into the mass of disheveled space behind my eyes
Degrading my sight with tears, blurring the edges
Shifting the colors, silencing the world with
Exploding pain as their filed teeth gnash and
Shred my plastic consciousness formed in
The shadow of a mute and wandering world
They strain as the scratching slowly removes
The implanted ideas within, furrowing my soul
Readying the countless caged furies desperate
In their rallies to unearth their legion voice
They are the words; birthed in violence forged by man
The voice from which tears can be heard, heartbeats seen.
They are the art driving insanity - I am them.
Even in death inseparable. I. Them. -Always We.
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