Do not fold spindle or mutilate, the punch card oh so delicate as if they could feel our every punch, before AI took them far away
teased groped kissed touched grabbed squeezed gripped choked forced shamed raped used and abused or maybe flirted and fondled because
power lust drink charm hurt beat seduce control coerce punish exploit humiliate to abuse and defeat to use and use again tomorrow just like yesterdays
men, women too, power and evil, even transgender, sometimes in genuine love but mostly it’s a fatal bug that grabs you before you know it
the weapons have been recovered, with an excess of motives, and half again the opportunity, whatever it is we think we recognize as wrong, if it’s all old news, then what?
holding a grudge against a thing already done is playing with heaven’s way in vain like holding back the hands of time
judgment suspended fired up and off to the races without a hero to right the history, see i told you it was his
spasms paralyze with spite and bluster both erupting in disruption of our electrical systems, those secret codes of the patriarchy
sexless really despite its name, abuse and often lust to be on top to force submission, they just need the work (and what a job you were)
yes we do exactly this, we judge and taunt and laugh at others’ suffering pain that leaves scars from the heavy thoughts hung on the heart
we can climb these mountains complicit as a team complacent or we can fight our own way without hopes to tie it all together or the strings god gave, either way we can feel it
the choice is clear filled with perilous lying threads bewitching lost betrayed re-named as gifted, if an afflicted high performer
and oh by the way, your fragile cards hidden away so delicate, save them for a history lesson so someone else can punch out the whole truth
now just for your records, yes we feel it, each and every tattooed perforation a permanent record of your shame
we never knew you, just the bugs in your narcissistic program and all its unauthorized privileges we can never forget.