They judged me to an edge
Of what alone subsists in them
That I fall off this precipice
As a suicide from a cliff
And I die every day and night
In the crosses in their minds
But they are them in crises
Of scourges that lash back
For if I were not guilty
They wouldn’t be in shackles
Of thoughtless thought to think
That ‘am ruined in dooms
Yet the free needs no discharge
Nor acquittal from their mental jails
They rally head to head, as like the parliament of vultures over a carcass,
Call you to judgment, and there put it to you. They laugh and nod or rather shudder at the marvels of their allusion; and then whisper as if to the crevices. And with the clasping thunder of their thumbs, they strike you dead for the day, and adjourn the sitting for your excursion next day. Yet, from these prisons in their hearts, exudes from their lives, the fetid stench of lies and frustration.
Here come the idle public judges!
Thinking of the judgment you pass on me, my heart learns corruption, for thinking of the much evil you commit me to in your mind, I wonder if they wouldn’t be pleasurable if I take to them. You set your eyes on my steps, seeing the licentious things you know best through them. If you are not too foolish you would have seen the porosity of your anus!
Mental emancipation of the mentally incarcerated is the antidote to the rusting bars of humanity.
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