Natural Selection




The lifeline was destined
 to be severed forever.
With chaos left alone to run,
We sit and watch our brothers drown,
Breathe subversive air,
Bleed liquid despair.
Thus fall all the rag dolls
So unprepared, so poorly sown.

Now here I stand so elevated
And ignorant of victory.
The holiest of sinners die.
The wickedest of saints shall fly.

Now pattern recognition
turns to fatal precognition.
Trembling revelations abound:
The ruts, the mundane cycles,
Show in such acrid relief
Against the bittersweet sky.
Now I hold a mutant eye,
Grown to predict each lie

My only gentle supplication:
Let me star-glide as I may
into a return-to-sender supernova.
For this world, I was not made.