Satara Nill just couldn’t sit still
as she saw Rich Christopher instill
loyalty among the remaining Boy’s toys.
To watch one of her kind destroy
the fragile balance that existed
between her people that resisted
selling out their souls to live among
the persecutors who had drug
their ancestors through living hell,
exploitation, and degradation of self.
That balance of us against them
the ones that split the One Race into realms
that marked her people with a branding
that disintegrated communities with abandon
and turned us against us, in the name of scraps
tossed to us by those who are never strapped.
How could that traitor Rich see the Good in that?
My Lady of Truth, the Lost Child supports me
in my desire to crush all traitors who refuse to see
that our people are on our own and no one will be
our savior, not even that Boy of the disease
of hope that stunts our descent into chaos
while snake charmers continue to play us
the tune of invisible riches and ill equipped tools
that continue to block our progress from being fools
like Rich that licks the master’s hand like domesticated
bitch that he is, loving those tales of the fabricated.
Hope is a four letter word for taking it in the ass
and begging for seconds in the name of a class
act of a species that is a culture of self laceration
and the illusion of social touch that is really masturbation.
How can that jerk off Rich see the Good in that?
My fellow Seven, they aren’t my family
they serve a demon who lives for insanity.
But I’m the wolf among this wretched flock
who uses the Beast and its crew as pawns in my plot
To free us all from the separation anxiety
that encourages us to sodomize society
and ream the Great Family a deep hole
where love should’ve been but only the souls
of dysfunction who can’t maintain peace
because our breeds are too different to release
judgments and hates and reinstate a place
where I can love me without awareness of my face…
Why can’t that bastard Rich be aware of his race?