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“The Flayed Men”
By = Pyrayton Svaenohr

Flayed alive, the skinless monsters still breathe.
Their every breath is agony, their screams directed inward,
But their rage is directed outward.

Like a cancer they spread, claiming everything in reach.
Eating The Mother to death, kidnapping and torturing their kin,
Not thinking beyond what can give instant relief to their pain.

Genocide is a pleasant afternoon for these beasts.
Having lost their own souls, they devour the souls of their kin,
And the results are a travesty, a mockery of spirit.

Lash out at them, and you may get them to release you.
But do not point out the insanity of their ways, or they will tear you apart,
And you will die knowing some small part of their agony.

I would pity them, but they flayed themselves.
They have only themselves to blame for their condition.
Which is the most pitiable thing of all.

There are a few who have regrown their skins,
Regrown their souls, and are sane for a time, feeling empathy for their kin.
The others will find them and re-flay them.
They always do.

~ ~ ~

File this under "all monsters are human." This poem is about European imperialism, and how it affects both white people and people of color. The imagery was inspired by a post in which some black Africans' reaction to seeing white people for the first time was to say "They have no skin!"


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