how did it come to this?
we hide in our shells. to protect us, to keep us from harm's way. with every word uttered our shells are slowly pried away, and with every step we take, we fear, that one day our shells would all be taken away from us, and we are left there, lying naked, and vulnerable, for the whole world to see.
we stand behind a wall to hide ourselves. shield us from the cross fire. everything that is done drives the bulldozer closer, the roar of the engine loud, intimidating, frightening. it reminds us of what is to come, the pillage - the destruction of the wall - our wall, our time to stand before the village of the walless, where everyone thrives from the openess of their hearts. condemned, confused, we stand before them, yearning for the wall that used to stand - our pillar of hope, our pillar of strength, our pillar of life.
we hide in the jungles of confusion, dress ourselves like savages who belong there. we hide from the world. in our tattered rags and crude weapons we feign to be foreign, different from the others. we seek isolation, concealment, and what utimately would be protection from the world that we know it, cannibals in designer rags and concealed smiles of malicious intent. do we grow weary from our lives of pretense? pretense is survival, it is the key that locks us out from the hunters - men driven mad with hunger for fresh blood; for blood to contaminate; for blood to pollute; for blood to put into vials, vials upon vials on the trophy cabinet. vials to prove that "i have conquered".
