when we thought as long as we stayed true to ourselves we would never become monsters
and assumed the line between self worth and hypocrisy would always be clear
when all the things we didn't understand were phantoms
creatures of the shadows that would never touch us
sorrowful how these things creep up
weeds snaking gently under the skin
winding their way up bone and sinew
shedding seeds in our brains, the eggs of an alien species
i think they first get in under our fingernails
transmitted from the shaking of hands
"good day to you, kind sir,
i've no defenses from your influence
and only hope it might not destroy me"
this chill brings me back to a time much colder
when frozen as we might have been, we never thought we'd sell ourselves for warmth
didn't realize yet there's no such thing
as a line that can't be crossed
that the ideal environment for phantom larvae
was the rich blood of our very desires
we thought it would be easy to "never be like that"
when in reality, it's so much easier to dismiss certain moralities
so easy the action is often unconscious
but who are we, anyway, to say what's right and wrong?
who are we?