I am a Lamb, bound to slaughter
Bound and gagged, unable to shout.
The knife is sharp, the blade is cold,
I feel my lifeblood slowly ebb.
The voices in my head scream,
No, they howl:
\"Why is it you do this to me?\"
Though I cannot speak, nor move,
As I am trapped in silent agony.
Words etched deep in my being,
Deeper than I ever have been.
Stacked upon each other,
My feelings lay,
Forever waiting to be expressed.
Ticking bombs inside me,
Never being lit,
Always in dormant state,
I wonder what is it,
that keeps me quiescent.
I am not a Lamb.
I am not whatt I intended to be,
How can one hate its own genesis?