My surroundings are blank.
The chemicals have destroyed
everything I once knew.
Spill my guts and start anew.
Make lines and shapes
out of my tissue,
my infantile sinew.
Draw my blood
and spray it like a mist.
Don’t worry, I'm clean!
It will be death and disease.
The mandatory evil
that people will pray to,
try to appease.
Snuff out the happiness
so that years later
it will return independent,
free of corporate control.
Flay my flesh
and weave it into a blanket.
One big enough
to create a dome.
This will allow us to start fresh,
to protect its inhabitants with a flesh tone mesh.
This new world will be beautiful.
Even better than Rome.
Not the old beautiful but a muse-like gooey inside-out honeycomb.
All will be good
in this self-inflicted utopia.
Change comes only from pain.
We, the majestic collective crane,
will survive the onslaught of impractical theology,
we will not be slain.
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