Red.
Everything was stained red
It was all he could think of as
the scent of iron stung his nose.
It stained their faces like war paint
and their wounds ran like rivers
He thought it used to be just fun and games
when the danger was so far away.
But hidden just close enough for us
not to taste it on our tongues
I want to take a microscope to your brain
See what your thoughts are made of
Can I pick apart the fibers of your heart?
Which are the gears that make you tick?
You have levers in your arms
and bellows in your chest.
Tell me why your eyes have shades
Your nerves: are they ropes to pull,
or levers to flip,
or buttons to push?
Explain to me why you dream
and why, to you, this is the only reality?
Are your emotions just simulated reactions?
Or are they craving animals inside you?
I want to know what makes you live.