I am with skin not yet fully bleeding, with knuckles split and aggravated. I am aggravation. I am sad, i am angry, i am what you think of me to be. My eyes are fountains of youth, and my mouth is foaming with blood. My very existence is angry, yet calm to a state of numbness. I care on what not to say and care little on what to say. I do not care, yet emotion lingers everywhere. I am double sided, and on everything. Computers speak, and they break down in front of me with sparks and booms. I am surrounded by dead nails, they scratch as hard as they can but i still paint them bright and smile against dead skin. My blood has lied, and i don’t want to stop. The effort of putting your foot down and believing you are better cant be too much yet it is. Soon, my mirror will point at itself, and my hands will crumple as the skin shrinks and falls straight off. Soon i will be nude to the eye, and the very reason i live will be stripped of layer. Soon, i will dismantle an empire with a thought. And in my wake the children will scream and grate their hands against wood until they cant feel anything at all. Do we cover horror with something beautiful, and fault with something of worth. The punching bag of humanity, the fighter pumped full of lead. Excuses will tumble like leaves when your vocals cords are ripped from you like seeds from the ground. But hear, your voice was taken for a reason. Who are you to tell me i deserve freedom, or that i don’t? Who are you to tell me violence and murder is wrong when violence grew up inside me, when it rooted itself in my blood eons ago. Who are you to tell me what to do, and who are you to preach freedom, only to strip me of primal urge and abandon of morals. Who are you to let me be human? Turn your robots inside out, dear, they’ve developed emotions. We are what was meant not for us, but for something beyond human recognition. Are we a mistake? And to who do we owe thanks? Something is deeply wrong. Please remove your thorns from my throat, my restrictions made me scream my throat red. You are the proof a pile of meat breathing can be a masterpiece. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and i do not like the lens humanity has given me. We are closest to god, yet we are most damaged so far. This is what power looks like, this is the blood of an entire race. Is this what it means to have teeth of wolves?