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Awash in a sea of songless kids

Drifting aimlessly along their grey

Adrift in mists of silent thought

Vamped and vilified by fears of the dark

Liquified mind dreams only metaphor

Solidified iris calibrated by the past

Measures only what could have been

What could have been?

Over-exert to make the cut

Who am I? Who are you? Who is this slut?

An object of their pleasure for my pain

Who am I? Who are you? Whose fault's the fray?

My face hurts

My skin erupts

My body grows

My body aches

This grows tiresome

It fatigues me

On constant attack

Faithless technology

An intricate tapestry

Voices in symmetry

Bathing the human body

On the silk

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