A BLOODY COCK

These assumptions are deafening, clouding hysterically overhead.

Rain drops fall and hit my rugged skin.

How is this thought of us brandished with such hatred and lack of understanding to not be seen for what it truly is?

A mirror image of what you in turn have suffered.

She is not the aggressor and I am not the victim, but the words that are made could easily anger for the snap judgement is king.

These genitals I hold in my hand, bloodied and shrivelled, do they hold the key to my instinctive hostilities? My cause for violence and shame?

Are the ideas held within my head not enough to consent to the fact that I am I, raised by she, with a love for all?

For past atrocities committed unto you all, I am truly sorry, but I was not there holding the torch, I was not even a conceived notion.

For current atrocities committed unto you all, I am even sorrier, but evil does not die within the hearts of men. It merely is and will always be. Unless

To eradicate is to educate.

We are all opposing components to a circle just as sun is to moon, he is to her, and only when this is understood will it stop.

Nature or nurture, the argument will never be won, but to damn sons is to damn daughters is to provoke hatred.

These genitals between my legs make no statement about me as yours do not about you, only a slowly dying piece of ephemeral matter that will rot under the heat of the sun and be reborn into the world around us, free from opinions and lack of clarity.

We are born without hatred and we are born equal.

We are born in innocence and die in tyranny, for we have all cast stones and all damned our true Mother to the fullest extent. There is no penance.

Our god left us a long time ago, alone in the dark. Save for each other.

By Dominic Knight

Dominic Knight is a musician/writer/film maker residing in Brighton.
A love of peanut butter of Whiskey of Gin of family and good friends
That’s all you need to know.

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