Categories
Poetry

Slaves

In the sick-sweet smell of honesty
I have held the flag of indecency
In the parturition of only righteous
I have delivered demons of all time
In the illuminated palaces of precision
I have sent the sifting devils of fury
Of all the things you have made with order
I’m going to induce a cumulative disorder
When you have the power to challenge me
Come over on the top
Raise your voice and talk me to the eye
You have no power, no life to do it
As you are the slaves of your own rules