The day I was born was
the day I was bound.
Iron around my ankles,
my wrists.
Labor ensued, and a
meaningless life.
A futile fight for
futile freedom.
Sometimes, the taste of
freedom
touches my tongue, my
soul.
And then, in an
instant, no more.
My wrists again feel
the torture.
Frigid iron and
venomous tongues bind them.
I walk an endless line;
A line of drones.
I am one of them, or
rather,
One of us.
The sky. Never bright,
that damn sky
The sun. He hides his
glorious face,
Unknown to me. Hell,
I can't even remember
what time is.
The darkness outside
matches the drapes.
The desolation within,
within my mind,
Madness and fury, lust
and hate.
All that fill me these
long and pitiful days.
I think days, at least.
Damn sun. Damn iron.
Damn fool ahead,
dragging me along.
His relentless pace
suffocates my wrists
And look at my feet.
Cracked like this earth
Bruised and broken. The
feet of a man,
Or so I once thought.
Boy was I wrong.
They are the feet of a
beast. An abomination.
The soul leaves crimson
in spurts along the tormenting terrain,
The soles leave crimson
in spurts along the same.
The tops of the feet
might as well be the earth
The earth owns them and
their owner
Calling him forth
wherever she has need.
So we wander only to
toil. We breathe only to die.
Life is meant to be
lived by those damned in their visions.
Damned more than even
me I see looking,
Staring into their
eyes: their souls. Into their smiles.
Those cracked and
jagged smiles
Like the mountains of
Hades,
birthing the river
Styx, when they smile.
Always smiling. Always
blankly staring, empty.
Greedy bastards. Their
eye never has its fill
Of fantasy. The ear
never has his fill either,
of vulgarity. The heart
never has its fill
Of brokenness. The soul
never has his fill
of loneliness. The
feet, well hell,
The feet have had their
God-damned fill.
