The Consciousness Under Siege
Truth overwhelms those who live by proxy, and business governs the masses.
Are we lost? I don’t think so, but I doubt this won’t become serious.
Power is contagious, and those who live exposed burn in the embers of the intrusive.
How much longer can I endure this pressure that thaws me, that steals my breath?
How much longer must one resist an unconscious and systematic threat of power?
This is killing me, and I recover my sanity while hearing the screams of terror in the background.
There is neither doubt nor certainty: whoever governs threatens those who live under submission.
More power, more insanity.
I don’t want to cover my eyes or believe in the falseness that shatters my skull.
It is not too late to beg for mercy, and the insects are so calm that nothing makes sense.
It is human management and consciousness shaking hands.
It is the indifference of the strong and the arrogance of the weak.
It is the injustice of overpopulation as a valid resource for this massacre.
How long will I keep bleeding, dominated by beings without their own criteria?
I will not abandon the free will the masses gave me, nor punishment nor forgiveness.
This nefariousness not only suffocates me: it wounds me slowly.
My identity has been wrapped in outrage and death.
How much honor must I lower to suture this wound?
I don’t want to stitch it. I want it to rot and turn gangrenous.
It will not be enough for them to cut off my limbs and leave me living in a wheelchair.
It will not be enough for it to reach my neck and leave me with only my head and hair.
Coffins sow terror, and peace governs the time of the seconds that martyr life.
I want to dress as a woman.
I want to dress as a man.
But I always return to the same depth: your incomprehension.
It is the mirror, and my dramatism, and my euphoria.
My concept of feeling vulnerable to the environment and being mocked by the security that was shielding me, guard, is my complex against my nature.
I will let life decide for me.
I will let everything lose meaning once again, because I am earthly and I want to be on another planet.
The feeling of a silenced voice makes me stumble, but at the same time I want to go back and recover my original form, for when I can no longer suck nourishment from my body, emaciated by my old habits of believing myself something I am not.
Feeling validated in such a cruel world is my depression and containment against my stance.
I have seen the lake thaw and the somber solitude approach.
I was born from fire and marked a glow on my head, a mark inherited by my stupidity.
I don’t have to tell you anything concrete.
Now I want to be the one who controls the world, but the world is blind.
In one second, a lion kills a deer and tears its neck apart.
In another second, you look at a human being run over and analyzed: the body is torn to pieces and the guts spill out in heaps.
This is not a magazine catalog.
It is reality against the raw and serene denial of loving and not being loved.
There is no time for abrupt words, because now I am being carried toward hell.
While the voices torment me, I want to guide the stranger, but I achieve nothing.
I feel my chest burn and the wrinkles of my skin marking themselves.
Is it too late for me if I always want youth?
It is not possible to live while slowly dying, and there will be nothing to fear if all I want is to leave my mark on the world.
Because even if I remain whole, the manifesto changes direction and I am once again used and dragged toward the axis of evil.
Do not uncover my solitude, because I will have fallen in vain.
I will have been dismembered, and only the lament of doubt will remain.