Over 16,529,921 people are on fubar.
What are you waiting for?
Somewhere in there is an admission of guilt.
Something I had gone wrong in the who would what, and when did where.
I can feel the river around me without fear.
I can place my fingers in the running noise and shut my eyes blithe to the current.
I can cut the melon. I can count the rings.
I don't know what you've been doing these years.
I've built a stockpile of tiny cuts and gouging wounds.
A warchest of sharp and clean things.
Words. Mad, strange words, and crude blades.
A torrent of blasphemy and heretical wild hate.
Arcane drudgery and arrogant zen.
Bludgeoning the founders with waste, fueled by blistering rage.
Sores and cankers bursting at the mere utterance.
Gibbering, clawing, sputtering for silence.
Deafness.
Unclean whispers in fearful ears of the guilty.
First a tingle, then an ache, then a plea.
You begged for my forgiveness.
To my recollection, more than once.
Petulant, squirming, and writhing under the jackboot of damning truth.
Why would I lie for you then?
Why would I lie for you now?
