Shut Up
Vomit all ideals and serve
This pain is unendurable.
Being beaten until every fiber of your muscles throbs painfully,until bones break and pierce some lonely organ or some already-convulsing muscle, this pain is unendurable.
This pain that an idea with no name, no face of it's own, causes...
It walks unseen through the crowds of one's soul, sticks to masses and then lets go, only to attach, later, to another easily maneuvred core.
And then it detaches again. The process will always repeat.
And when the soul it targets is fortified, it uses force; having so many corrupted masses, it always wins.
In this moment, I'm a perishable nothing, a flicker of insanity that dissapears when the wind starts its rebellion.
Johnny may become, soon, the same...
His soul is soaked in vomit and urine, I don't recall their order, but I know he tries desperately to cleanse it; his body shakes as if he's a lonely skeleton on a December day, his eyes rummage the air as if he seeks for Mike's spirit for guidance, but he's lonely, my brother...and I can't help.
I'm just a perishable nothing right now...
"Why do you keep making the same mistakes, eh, lad?"
That man that beat me to uncounsciousness...
"When will you learn your lesson?"
That man that ripped my soul to shreds and then burned the remnants...
"It's not smart to go against powerful people"
Is this the lesson? One should kneel when the wind blows too hard?
What a stupid lesson...I expect you to throw up, brother.
Uri spits a mouthful of blood, plants his palms firmly into the damp pavement on the streets and lifts himself slightly, enough to eye the man that tries so damn much to force this idiotic lesson down his sensible throat, a man, persumably, of law.
"You'll never silence the voice if the voiceless"
Ah, I remembered.
I liked your explosive personality much more than I liked Mike's calm, self-destructive one...
Being beaten until every fiber of your muscles throbs painfully,until bones break and pierce some lonely organ or some already-convulsing muscle, this pain is unendurable.
This pain that an idea with no name, no face of it's own, causes...
It walks unseen through the crowds of one's soul, sticks to masses and then lets go, only to attach, later, to another easily maneuvred core.
And then it detaches again. The process will always repeat.
And when the soul it targets is fortified, it uses force; having so many corrupted masses, it always wins.
In this moment, I'm a perishable nothing, a flicker of insanity that dissapears when the wind starts its rebellion.
Johnny may become, soon, the same...
His soul is soaked in vomit and urine, I don't recall their order, but I know he tries desperately to cleanse it; his body shakes as if he's a lonely skeleton on a December day, his eyes rummage the air as if he seeks for Mike's spirit for guidance, but he's lonely, my brother...and I can't help.
I'm just a perishable nothing right now...
"Why do you keep making the same mistakes, eh, lad?"
That man that beat me to uncounsciousness...
"When will you learn your lesson?"
That man that ripped my soul to shreds and then burned the remnants...
"It's not smart to go against powerful people"
Is this the lesson? One should kneel when the wind blows too hard?
What a stupid lesson...I expect you to throw up, brother.
Uri spits a mouthful of blood, plants his palms firmly into the damp pavement on the streets and lifts himself slightly, enough to eye the man that tries so damn much to force this idiotic lesson down his sensible throat, a man, persumably, of law.
"You'll never silence the voice if the voiceless"
Ah, I remembered.
I liked your explosive personality much more than I liked Mike's calm, self-destructive one...