Often I look upon your faces and think that Death would be a mercy. In your cow-like eyes, I swear I see stupidity stretch in infinity and verily I say to you, as much as I hate you, I feel pity for you as well.
Knowledge offered is taken for the gospel truth, when lies mixed with truth swirl together like honey in water yet I see you drink it all in, the elixir of corruption.
It is a fine thread that separates the two and in your desperate need for affirmation, you huddle together like cows in a pen, each pressing the other for warmth. In the ever growing need to escape loneliness, you would discard the truth for lies if you thought it would purchase a moment empty of silence, for you fear it more than you fear Death.
And if the herd were to take the thread and weave a rope to hang themselves with, would you do the same for the sake of belonging?
Here is the rope, here are the lies, do with it what you will for your need is both your blessing and your bane. In silence lies a truth purer than the discordant chatter of your mindless talk.
In my head, I see you hanging from the ropes made up of your own lies.
The beast was here all along…