Liquid insecurity stains my inhibitions with

The long-forgotten morals of sobriety,

Simultaneously evacuating the standards of society.

No second-chances, or easily forgotten comments,

No acceptable language or forbidden contents.

An explicitly obscene obsession with acceptance

Rules the actions of the affiliated, emanating

A generally welcomed gesture of humiliation.

Why tempt the quivering boy with the comforts

Of Fire Water? Anyone with fire is bound to witness

The unlawful torments of the Burning Mistress.

COUNTERACTING ATTACKS*

Hands seize, palms sweat, feet become limp.

Tales of loathing and flame spread amongst the inflicted

Seemingly numbing all.

What arises of this? Not just resentment –

Not simply a cast of jumbled euphemism –

But legitimate fear.

Fear that had so long incinerated the hopeless, the devastated

The hunted.

Quivers trail their own bodies,

The same bodies that they had shared countless experiences with.

Yet the thought remains,

That no longer will they be standing inside the flesh,

Or the bones, or the blood, or the broken beckons

That scream of

Despair and yearning, but soon

Becoming an observer, a witness to one’s

Own murder, to the genocide of millions.

Bitterness and offense are just byproducts of

Fear. True result?

Undisturbed, unmentionable, and inexplicable

Silence. A silence that makes up the foundation

Of war.