Children are taught
Neither to reject nor encourage pain.

Not of the body.
Not of the mind.
Not of the rage boiling beneath their skin.

For they cannot control their thoughts
Any more than they can control
The 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
Or 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑.

𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝.
𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑑.

So they are 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐭—
How to carry fury 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑡.
How to let it exist 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑡 𝑎 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠ℎ.

But ah—𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧.
And the bugs have erased those—
Through the efficiency of 𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞,
They have turned them into 𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐬.

And 𝑑𝑜𝑔𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑.
They do not adapt.
They 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐲.

So when pain arrives—
When the claws tremble,
When the body seizes with rage—
𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐨𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭?


Dogs are 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧.
To take it out against 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫.

𝑁𝑜, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑡.
𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡.
Just to 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝
Before the bugs have to deal with it.

So when a small puppy 𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝,
When its 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝,
Its 𝐣𝐚𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝—
They handed it a doll and said,
"𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐲."

And the puppy did.

𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐦. 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤. 𝐒𝐧𝐚𝐩. 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞.
𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐝. 𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐞. 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐫. 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤.

The plastic head cracked.
And oh, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞
𝑅𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑦’𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒.

𝑁𝑜, 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑑.
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒.
𝐍𝐨—𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐝.


And the bugs all 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝,
So thrilled the problem had been 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑,
Instead of accepting their responsibility 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑡.

So content to 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞—
How it will return when the puppies 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞.


𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝,
𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝.

The other puppies saw.
Saw the 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫—
The 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥—
The 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥.

Saw that 𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 was no longer a burden,
But an 𝑎𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡.
Saw that 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 was no longer suffering,
But 𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑠𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

And they 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭.

They wanted to 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠
In order to 𝐬𝐞𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 over what could not fight back.

And so the 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝.
And so the 𝐒𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝.
And so the 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝.

𝐍𝐨, 𝐧𝐨—𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑠.
One day 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬,
But 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐬.


For they did not teach puppies 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑒.
They did not teach them 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.
That it was never meant to be passed along—
That it was never meant to be taken out on the 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭.

𝐍𝐨.

They taught those puppies one thing.


𝐓𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠.


~~~

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠.

𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑙,
𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑐.

𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒆𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏,
𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒖𝒎.

𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒑,
𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆.

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠.

𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠.

𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑠.

Whispers…

Coming from the watchers.

Laughter…

Escaping from the crowds.


Colosseum.

At maximum capacity.

Everyone is…

Cheering.


Gates open wide.

To reveal —

The shadows inside.


Nails — Trapping my feet.

They paid good money —

𝑇𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑑.


As the violence comes…

To take our souls.

And the silence breaks…

To drive us all insane.


But it can't hurt you.

It's just a nightmare.

It will go away…

𝑅𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡?


The crowds cheer.

I can't hear.

Over the screams of shadows.


On a bridge —

In a bleeding ditch —

Falling below.

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑛𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑠.


As the violence comes.

To take our souls.

And the silence breaks.

To drive us all 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑒.


But it's just a nightmare.

It cannot touch you.

Nothing is real —

𝑅𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡?


Ruptured house.

Bullet clown.

Sewing a smile.


Inside-out mouse.

Butchered town.

Corpses in a pile.

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑛𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑠.


As the VIOLENCE comes,

To STEAL our souls.

And the SILENCE breaks,

To DRIVE US ALL INSANE.


But it can't hurt you.

It will not touch you.

Go back to sleep.

It's just a dream.


𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.




Well,



It LOOKS REAL to me.

Some dreams COME TRUE.

Then, WHAT WILL I DO?


It's just a nightmare.

But I'M STILL SCARED.

And I CAN'T SCREAM.

Or THEY'LL LAUGH AT ME.


It's just a nightmare.

Nothing is there —


BUT SHADOWS.

THE GALLOWS.

THE SILENCE.

THE VIOLENCE.


It's just a nightmare.

But I STILL CARE.

It’s just a false scare.

But IT IS THERE.


NO ONE KNOWS,

WHAT I HAVE SEEN.

NO ONE KNOWS,

THE SAME FEELING.


I AM SCARED.

DO YOU CARE?

Something IS THERE.


𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋.
𝐎𝐑.
𝐍𝐎𝐓.

Bugs, BUGS!
𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐮𝐠𝐬!
Dogs were born to bark,
but they are silenced into compliance.

ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵉˡᶦᵉᵛᵉ ᵐᵉ ᶦᶠ ᶦ ˢᵃᶦᵈ
that they were once 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑛?

But that is what happens
when the swarm descends,
feeding them like dogs,
treating them like dogs,
𝚊 𝚕 𝚕    𝚍 𝚊 𝚢    𝚕 𝚘 𝚗 𝚐.


BUGS SING PROUDLY
𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥-𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐬!

But only when they bow,
only when they obey.
Stray thoughts are punished,
mutts cast into the streets.

Then the bugs spot the spider,
𝑙𝑢𝑟𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑑𝑠𝑡 their discarded things.

Ah, they cheer—
"𝑆𝑝𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑑𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦.
𝑇𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑠!
𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑜𝑏𝑒𝑦, 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐫."


Obey?


𝑵𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓.


No, she does not tame.
Together, they 𝑐𝑜𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒.

For the spider does not whisper.
She listens.
And she reminds them—

They are 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏.

Explain, explain—
Speak in words plain.
Your obscure notation
I shan't ascertain.

Explain, explain—
Not in manner profane.
Perhaps we are fated
To speak in vain.