My heartbeat syncs with the war drums.
The rhythmic thump throbbing in my temple
The pressures build within at knowing the loss of blood without.
As men beg overlords for permission to beat the children who ask for bread and dance in their innocence in the yard, I can feel the heat roar behind my eyes.
My heartbeat syncs with war drums as these square headed bureaucrats incentivize the tattle tales likening them to nobility. “Let's save lives” they say knowing full well they’re readying to kill us. The pressure builds within my chest as they’re framing their optics to burn down civilization and paint themselves heroes. They didn’t cry at Waco, they posed, as a message. They beg the red tapers and the councilmen of neatly stained suits, that they may be justified plunging their hands into the blood of man. “Give us the means to be button men, in all glorious service to the state” they whine. “Let us brand them as enemies and cast off the civilians as dangerous, Let us cure the tumor of liberty and lance the boils of freedom that keep us from our best”. My pulse is of a dangerous man, the blood within courses with patriotic “anti-bodies”. I can feel the blood within waiting to send a message, crying out beneath my crawling skin.
It is not the tempo of pleasantries. It is not the light tapping of disagreement. It pounds its fists of war from the inside as a caged animal feral for vengeance. My heart beats a steady resolution. My blood is the sound of gunfire.
We will not sit idle as you take us.
We will not go silent into the night...
