Who's going to hurt us, now,
since we've become stone?
What fists will fall, useless,
wearing bruises, instead of
handing them out? What
words will shatter, never
once touching the tender
spots they sought to wound?
We refuse to be simply human.
We are fortresses, the rocks
against which the world will
come to crash, then break.

06/27/2004

Author's Note: Get bent.

Posted on 06/28/2004
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