These are not the dreams of a man. Men are not born like this: dripping from a chemical pod, powerful and muscled, but with the searching eyes of an infant, lost and scared. Choked by the fumes and reaching out to the only father he'd ever know for comfort, only to be met by loathing. The retribution he beats into the newborn is meant for another - not a man, but a vessel for hate.
Men are not kept in sterile, empty rooms, where the lights are always on and always too, too bright, making it impossible to track the days. There is no bed to sleep on, no clothes, no blankets. Only visitation marked by bland slop and needles, strange medicine that makes him sick and sweat and convulse with pain. He curls up in a fetal position in the far corner every time he hears footsteps grow near. Every time his father grow more disappointed in him. He doesn't know why - he's only a lab animal.
Men are not disposed of like trash. They don't have to claw their way out of a pit of bodies, all identical to his - all deteriorated with the same failure of the flesh. Their corpses crumble like chalk, a mirror of his own fate. He was meant to die. Just one more failure among hundreds. No one ever hears his plea to be saved - he escapes into the sewer alone, unwanted and incomplete. Garbage.
The world of man was never meant for him. He was never a man.]
no subject
These are not the dreams of a man. Men are not born like this: dripping from a chemical pod, powerful and muscled, but with the searching eyes of an infant, lost and scared. Choked by the fumes and reaching out to the only father he'd ever know for comfort, only to be met by loathing. The retribution he beats into the newborn is meant for another - not a man, but a vessel for hate.
Men are not kept in sterile, empty rooms, where the lights are always on and always too, too bright, making it impossible to track the days. There is no bed to sleep on, no clothes, no blankets. Only visitation marked by bland slop and needles, strange medicine that makes him sick and sweat and convulse with pain. He curls up in a fetal position in the far corner every time he hears footsteps grow near. Every time his father grow more disappointed in him. He doesn't know why - he's only a lab animal.
Men are not disposed of like trash. They don't have to claw their way out of a pit of bodies, all identical to his - all deteriorated with the same failure of the flesh. Their corpses crumble like chalk, a mirror of his own fate. He was meant to die. Just one more failure among hundreds. No one ever hears his plea to be saved - he escapes into the sewer alone, unwanted and incomplete. Garbage.
The world of man was never meant for him. He was never a man.]