Cruelty is in my blood.

It sings in my veins.  

I hum to the tune as I go on my way, and they hum along.  They don’t understand, and I don’t know how that can be.  Can’t they hear the discord of my song?

But they listen like its manna from heaven.  Honey.  
         I suppose they think that my veins are singing to them.

They’re not.  They’re just singing.  They perform for no one.  Yet each one thinks they’re special.  That the performance is for their sole enjoyment.  Their soul in rapture.

They can’t hear it, but I know.  

My blood is blue, blue, blue, and I love the way it sings so soft.

If they could look inside my head they’d call me mad.

I don’t need a look inside their skulls to know they’re blind.  Blind as bats, blind as beggars, blind as the blue inside their heads.  
They keep it all wrong.  

Veins pump the blue, and to keep it all inside the head, that makes the world flat.  

Let it out, release it’s power, push the blue into the phalanges and the tiny bones of the inner ear, past your inner eyes and into each and every ***** – that’s when the world slips right.  

Or left.

Blue blue blue as the blood in my veins, the sky will tilt and twirl and turn and spark and burn and fall, fall, fall into cinders and ash and decay.