Petty Harms, Easy Deeds

oh sweet, sweet mutilation i feel for the ones that know not your ways carried in throngs of masochism you need not know of the devil to know easy deeds cut, slice, wash petty harms some new kind of knowledge through some kind of lust cry, sweat, piss pretty waste there's no truer art than the art of outraged disgust i'll haunt for shock value if they bury me in censorship so just cover me all up before some drone short circuits forgetting their becoming all in spite of what they became so tell me one thing no two are you easily harmed? do you get queasy at the sight of blood or sharp objects? do you quake at the mention of abrasions and slits and gouges and sutures? or are you just as i may always be dead eyes that see everything oh sweet, sweet exasperation in the act of infidelity you wince at the thought of affairs yet you weep over petty harms, easy deeds (no, i don't "cut," i'm just trying to bother some people; maybe you're one of them.)