Stengah
Lacerating pains of degeneration speed through your trembling mind
Still, in machine-like strife you gain another mile
The temporary elusive goal:
To reach the solace, to feed once more upon the synthetic reaper of loss.
No matter the outcome.
No matter the cost
Cold and stinging needs tearing through the halls
Of your defiled, flesh made temple with its closing walls
Still you claim the worshippers pose and you bow.
You kneel
Control: once superior, now a docile pet at chaos' feet
Pulling the leash as it trails the scent to where all hurt recedes
Your past a blurry patch in mind, your future once;
now thin dreams filed
Toward the lights of need you strive
to drink into your vein the shine
Beaten to the unforgiving ground.
Lashed into submission
By the inner starving demon.
By its unrelenting hand
Still you claim the worshippers pose and you bow.
You kneel to the syringe
Answering only to authorities of sedation.
Their calls the only ones heeded
A worn out soldier touched by their contagion.
A battered drone at their feet
You're the one betrayed.
An outcast set afire by your inner war
Your burning self so far astray.
A combustion fanned from within your core
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