Now that the night has speckled the sky
with infirmities,
We are left with no other option than to burn
under a stigma of stars,
our robes dripping with fire and ash.
The air still reeks of power,
but our bodies are already testaments of
fizzled brain lobes
broken bones
blistered minds induced
with anti-telekinetic drugs.
Under the shocked clouds, we refract into something strange
something robotic
something death cannot touch.

We lose our names
to be clothed with nuts and bolts.

—Overcomer Ibiteye