Pain flows from the vain

Pain flows from the vain of another into the tips of flesh of our brother stabs and grabs at cells it now owns taking possession releasing moans frowning and crowning among professor lines it grows now exceeding vines of laughter possessing joy, calling to creed resisting to breed asking for feed failing to succeed the kings of greed and if only, if only, then our minds would mesh and our souls would combine into one being we would intertwine throw out the hurt mix it in the dirt, then walk over it under our skirt leave it behind the pinch of our pine the death to our breathe the keeper of our freedom let it die; don't look over our shoulder don't let our mind wonder let it die; let it die let the veins of pain dry let it die.