Born with Names

Under the darkened sky’s
Along the Jagged rocks of crumbling concrete
Two infants they scream

They clash at each other
Biting with gums, hitting with pathetic fists
They breathe anger and tare morality

They grow teeth, grow muscles and forge knives
Cut, bite and bathe in each other’s blood and guts
Crew organs and enrage to their truest forms

Born into themselves no need to be given names
The monuments of innocence of purity have crumbled
The beams of reality were not places in the blue prints
Bound to crumble and break our bones
We tare off our skin and define our race
Place words to law it but paper naturally burns

The victor has been chosen!
The victor’s morality is divine!
The loser forced to the ground
An easy place to be condemned

"We are pure! Our children of innocence!"
They cry as they close their eyes
Evil has been named and shall never triumph
Worth no more but their children to be used as meat
“Who cares, let us feast!"

But, but what if we have lied?
What if all we define is but scribbled lines
What if our conscious minds never strayed far from instinct?
What if we were born already with names?
What if we are and always will be, the same