Drop to Kill.
Participation comes in segregated frames where I can’t smile and you can’t laugh. Thus, makes us equal. Thus, we are here in this together. Let’s begin painting the doors red and the windows white. Let’s begin taking over our deafening civilization with amazing colors that keep us calm and habitual, just like caged animals. Sudden, since we all fight for war. Closure, since we all want a foolish sentence of promising words.
“We are at our finest.”
“The cancer can be cured.”
I cannot vitalize my standards for shouting the answers that fit this puzzle. The small leash we keep on every threat to mankind. It grows shorter by days numbered. And on that last day, the beast will be too close to tame. And massacre will reign the world’s face. Blood, scars, tissue, and tears. Rushing the world to the E.R. room. Plugging in the tubes and using the needles to circulate what’s not there.
“You promised to fix this.”
“I can’t feel the stick.”
Glassy eyes roll back and stealing love has never been easier. The ruckus is phenomenal and the stretching is longer. Promises are made to be kept until we no longer need them. We break what we don’t want. We lose what we don’t need. We’re all the same in matters of layers. And our frames of separation become frames of participating in killing ourselves. We line up. We stand still. We fire at us. We fire at will. We drop to kill.
“We are at our finest.”
“The cancer can be cured.”
I cannot vitalize my standards for shouting the answers that fit this puzzle. The small leash we keep on every threat to mankind. It grows shorter by days numbered. And on that last day, the beast will be too close to tame. And massacre will reign the world’s face. Blood, scars, tissue, and tears. Rushing the world to the E.R. room. Plugging in the tubes and using the needles to circulate what’s not there.
“You promised to fix this.”
“I can’t feel the stick.”
Glassy eyes roll back and stealing love has never been easier. The ruckus is phenomenal and the stretching is longer. Promises are made to be kept until we no longer need them. We break what we don’t want. We lose what we don’t need. We’re all the same in matters of layers. And our frames of separation become frames of participating in killing ourselves. We line up. We stand still. We fire at us. We fire at will. We drop to kill.