Each lacerating scar is a new engravement
which becomes more than we’ll ever be.
A definition of the synergy between fate and cruelty.

Shallow graves tease us
beckoning us to crawl inside
to be comforted by the silence
imagining our bones as dust
allowing our minds to fade out of focus
the static drowning out every
twist of the knife-
by our own hand that told us we were worthless.

But there’s beauty in misery
not in our reflection
but in the eyes who hold the keys to all the doors
you’re too scared to open
until someone pushes you through
bringing you to life, in ways you always dreamt to live
until you forget all of the reasons you want to die.

Flesh over fiction
validation over volition
find the angle
to carve desire,
find the curve,
to contort the insatiable itch
seared by the rapacity
of modernity.

We transcended commodity,
now,
we're free,
not in sense of liberty
the shackles still remain
but our worth diminished.

The shadows creep across you
trailing tendrils of torment
the snarling teeth of the jackals
who won't sit down beside you
and fall under our incantations of carnality.

Come out from the shallows of your signalled virtue
remember the facade, forget what's true.
You have no more power than we do.
But still, the guise stands you tall enough for us to fall on our knees,
gratified by your willingness to pull us from the disparity,
of a constructed paradigm
you pray never shifts.