I...
I am alive?
The last thing I remember,
My bones were being grinded
By the turnings of a massive gear,
With my blood as lubricant.
The last thing I remember,
I was a stone statue
Erected in the rain forest,
The pieces of me eroding away.
But...
But here I am.
I breath, I beat,
I can almost feel synapses snapping.
Perhaps, a dream?
Or, a twisted illusion on the way to my reckoning?
The last thing I remember,
My powdered bones
Had been scattered on the shore
To endure the torture of the waves.
The most prominent recollection
Is of my crumbling remians
Being smashed and bulldozed
As a forest was cleared.
How...
How did I arrive at this place?
An oddly shaped cage
That covers the front covers of magazines.
An oblong dungeon,
Whose shape has been both art and muse,
Both repressed and unleashed.
A body that has motivated
All that has been created in a name (man):
Ventures, attempts, trials,
To eliminate, vaccinate, counteract,
The one weakness of that symbol
That stands so boldly atop the food chain,
Atop the world, and atop itself-
The body of man.
It seems...
It's seems my memory serves me well.
The gear's still turning.
The rain's still pouring.
I'm still imprisoned with free will,
But no will free.
I'm still stone between the cogs.
It seems...
It seems the last thing I'll remember,
Is...
Ah, fuck it.
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