Gray

The blood flowing from the veins
Onto the ground beneath the feet
A knife sticking from the back
Restricting movement
Losing more blood
Losing colour and life
No more thoughts
Lost all blood
No more life or colours
Becoming another carcass
On the field
Someone removes the knife
There is life once again
But no colour or blood
Where has this life come from?
With no reality
You have no choice
But to join the masses
You are no longer human
No more questions
Only denial or acceptance
You are now mechanical and perfect

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