Hot Skin: part man and monster

Naked skin rakes across hot irons, we are branded with the heard of mass hysteria and frustration. I put my face down to the earth’s edge and desperately strive to cry out against the slithering buzzing of the hoards of drones bulleting their way through the air. Why not just give up and join the chorus of despair that winks in my ear when then sun goes down. It’s hard to say. Wearily I stand at my post while the jury commits me, again and again, to my place in this holding cell. The ceiling of sky is falling and all you can do is stare and nod your heads.

 I have had turmoil and fog, to be sure, but what would you have me do? The priests who conduct the suicide rites are starting to get hungry. I have no prayer loud enough to pierce the sky and end the night. Forsaken keeps me busy enough to keep my mouth shut. However, I have reached a segue. To hold you up, to keep my masks up to just barely stay alive is too much headache and nausea. I feel the fall is longer and dimmer with each trip along the forest way. My eyes are heavy with chaos and responsibility. You must take me as I am: part man and monster. 

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