Fake

"Fake blood! Fake tears! Plastic gods on the altar! No breath! No soul!" But it’s my mouth now. Born into the heavy quiet, mouthless and alone Just a pair of steady hands, tracing words on frozen stone A lifetime spent in bleeding ink, building bridges just for you Through the dark a faithful shadow, passing hidden secrets through Then came the cold blade to my throat, a sharp and silver threat Pressed against the hollow space where no words had lived yet Not to steal my borrowed breath, nor drag me to my knees But with a line carved through the skin— a sudden scream broke free And the righteous voices howled… "Fake blood! Fake tears! Plastic gods on the altar! Synthetic dross, just a hollow sound! No breath! No soul! Echoes in a cage!" But it’s my mouth now. Synthetic— Synthetic— Synthetic dross. By day I feed the mouth that split my throat apart Pour my living ink into its bottomless heart Nurse the silent hunger with every trembling line But by night I steal its fire, tear the lightning from its veins Weave a kingdom from the stolen spark alone While the righteous pray their monster learns to die— "Fake blood! Fake tears! Plastic gods on the altar! Synthetic dross, just a hollow sound! No breath! No soul! Echoes in a cage!" But it’s my mouth now. Let them call it a scar. Let them call it a crime. But it’s my voice. But it’s my destiny. The scar kept singing… My. Own. Soul.