Balenciaga's on a wooden rack
Crouched in cornered dark
I let my tongue cluck
As I wondered around
A tormenting piled pounds
Of human hearts
Results from bloody, hungry, angry, monsters
The unchosen but dedicated villains
That dig to disconnect our body pumps
Their nasty crooked nails
Stained with rotten bloods
I shake my head in misery
My heart; fresh blood, accurate functions
I am aware of my century's tragedy
But internally burning for clarity
All this is insanity
I long to be out of this petrifying situation
Into a thoughtful considerate resolution
Led by an outstanding motion
Spelt with a magical potion
I slapped myself to reality and dozed off minutes later
