Dissonance

Driving the pack, from the rear, with a trumpet, with an

axe. Driving to the

precipice, windswept and wet with starving neglect.

Eternally carving my cause

on a landscape that's blighted and scorched. I'm blighted

and scorched with the

truth, we don't listen, we shoot, from the blindside.

It's a landslide, but in

hindsight, I thought it was easier. But it's all much too

late to turn back, I

must face an eternally fateless way in a place where my

orders echo my torturous

ghosts. In a space with no windows, I'm counting the

touch. All this time to

reflect on my crimes to humanity. I'm screaming

profanities, just give me a

chance to start over again. I confess, yes, I'll do it

again.