Going Under The Knife
My fellow wonders of Nature,Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes.The truest words ever spoken. We were born with a purposeA ruckus of a fate, not courteousTo any emotions, we’re mere surfers. White lights bloom like artificial suns,Masked saints circle my quiet panic.Steel prayers gleam, cold and precise,They measure my worth in millimetres and minutes. Consent…