Again, it shall sound
That thing’s performance, a reprise of their phlegmatic number.
A song that couldn’t sway a breeze within the era they was born.
A heartbeat that would’ve been cauterized before it could’ve sworn,
‘I refuse to hate them. Even if this world is hopeless, everyone’s life is precious.’
A confused existence, for a beast that is synecious
How pitiful, the fact that the beast wishes to speak
YET, its holds its tongue, for its songs of sorrow emanate like terrifying roars
For the synecious monster, it only possesses one future- and this future is bleak.
Forsaken by the Gods that the monster loved so dearly
A forsaken behemoth that had lost the privilege to pray
Left to rot and roar, until one day, it fades away.
“Tell me God, has this beast lost right of passage to its stairway-
That will take it to the unconditional happiness it strives for
Even today?”
The monster wails, its voice bellowing into a growl.
Knowing that it is ****** to the pit, for its soul is deemed foul.
It is not the monster’s job to build itself and mankind out of clay
Try and try, however, they may…
One cannot control anymore,
The impending date it is set to expire.
And It will never join heaven’s empire.
The monster lives the rest of its life, playing a game of frame and shame
The ‘game’ that became
A method to maim and maim…
Until the monster has lost its will to speak, its will to feel, its will to classify itself
So it lives as something bendable
And perfectly expendable.
Apathy is the aim of the game,
And such is to accept your life as unamendable.
