Cold crushed emerald sits fallen in the brush of the ancient trees, crushed between the toes of swift feet. Silence was the game as it ended in rust and red.

They were watching.

The wooden bones of the places we called home grew bars of metal. There was no escape, just a muzzle with the illusion you can speak, as if it was your choice they let you leave.

But remember, they are watching.

Hand over heart, the youngest of us pledge allegiance to the illusion of false freedom. Their minds molded by the lies of token words won by men. Told that truth is written by the victors.

And they are watching.

Primal as a lion, they pace back and forth claiming victims they deem the least of us. Uncivilized they spat, unknowing the word described the fears of their heart that was rotted by riches.

Still they are watching.

Playing games of monopoly on our heads as they market the resources that keeps the blood pumping through our veins, not caring if it stops as long as you pay a fine for that too because the cost of green is valued over your crimson.

Because they are watching.

Control was always their game. Hands clean, their lies burn a hot rage within us, yet we turn to each other and let the venom consume our friends while we stand like marionettes.

Yet they are watching.

Division had always been the most effective tool. As lies became our kryptonite. Knowledge is the power they stole. Truth is the path to our salvation.

They are watching.

Shay

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