One day I grimaced at my hands,
And I saw that they were not truly mine,
Bound to schemes not my own,
Tied to some parliamentary puppeteer,
Oligarchs bluffing authority,
So I took a rotary saw to them,
With each rotating bite,
Every vein separated,
Muscle torn from radius,
Each bone bloodily gnawed through,
I felt no fire from the excision,
I felt relief,
Self-mutilation rapture,
The roar of petrol chokes any vice,
No longer can these hands commit the evils of others,
I’m no longer a tool,
If I cannot touch,
I cannot harm.
WorldofHarley 