Times of Avant-Garde

This self-attack is worthless,
No sense of remorse —
No counterforce —
Unless it hurts us.

The newly insanes
Chasing and dancing.
Post-mortem tribalism,
Repulsing in disdain.

We’ve hit the wall and reached rock bottom.
The Sodom of Morals.
Disloyally joyful.
Over-preaching before
It fades away.

Your skin looks regal.
Whose turn is to become —
Succumb into delusional,
Seductively illegal.

High voltage times.
High speed, we are driving off the limits.
You must have hurt so many people,
Injecting needles through their eyes.
You must have heard it…

Shout goddamn loud,
Cry goddamn hard.
Trace back.
Run forward.
Give it up.

Because we live and die —
In times of avant-garde.