The Dead Who Climb Up To The Sky

Rise

Weaponize yourselves
Against the unseen
Our world is a panopticon
Greased and bloodied fingers
Around our necks
Giant evil bluecoats parading our streets

There is corrosion in the spotted wood desk
That once stood where I sit
It’s gone but I can see it
As if it were the heron in my dreams
Following me every night on the shores
Of knitted roads, only staring
I'm into this as deep as a silo
I am buried in the ancient grains gasping for air
I am unburdened when I finally stop
I am lonliness simplified into eternal dark

Hang them all
Revolt now
Kill them all

Ripped into the dirt they fall