they want your body. they want your obedience. they want your crumpled, beaten soul in the palm of their hands.
they do not want the outspoken, the brash.
they want the meek, the timid,
they equate skin to sin.
you equate skin to divine.
doors become scarred by nails, fists meet flesh.
but doors get repainted, wounds stuck together with dirty tape.
but the rage and fire and vengeance are still bubbling, the horsemen ready their steeds. the whore wakes up, the monster has its final meal. soon they will come with fury in their eyes and buildings shall crack under the pressure of the tormented.
the dam bursts.
the day of reckoning has arrived.