A Victim’s card
Nothing is parallel or can be paralleled
Even when it is compounded, and expounded inside
It rages loud but gently in rib cages,
Behind hushing skinny fingers
Its beauty is too great, its beauty belongs to us
The formers, the creators of this place
We are the damned, we were the great
Oh the facade, it is all a facade they mimic the art
But can you take the cut, bleed it out, and dare to be adorned?
Dare to wear this coat, draw this permanent ink to the bone?
Just think, how pretty could the sky be if it didn’t bleed?
At dawn, could the light piece through if the curtains were never drawn?
Decreased, shrunk back, nullified from every place
Some have to take the plunge, accommodate that space,
Some have to bear the taste
Some have to receive, the brunt that comfort brings
Because of the beauty, it stretches to every extremity
Inescapable, from raw umber to hickory
They echo so much mockery, there is no victory
A stamp has been erased from your memory
We are young, we are today’s history