Deception
Cuts these tails
To let such blood
Run rampant
Between subjects
Barely speaking
As if truth
Is always wrong

Clinched
Inside these prongs
From destinies
Thick as metal
Confined
Within each tether
Like victims
Of our tests

Bound
To final breaths
When wound
Around those fingers
Of forks
And pointed phrases
Exchanged
Through heated speech

On flesh
Of captured mice
Split
Like hairs unsettled
From wounds
Or open gashes
With damage
Clipped by words

Being
Just too real
For experiments
Meaning nothing
Argued as
Important
But lethal
As this space

Distance
Drawn of hate
With constructs
Of our masters
Which have us
Running circles
Along wheels
That stay in place

Cages
Making homes
Of frantic creatures
Begging
For wrong
And harsh instruction
Through windows
Nearly cracked

As they pounce
And worry sick
When blaming
Fellow inmates
Scared
Without accepting
Denial
Hurts them most.

– J. Pigno