Collective Lols

These arms were once galleries
but now they are only iron gallows

that encase these sensations I used to sport on my sleeves
They are presently imprisoned
Provided that there are no keys that can unlock
or trade passage
where doors do not exist

It is impossible to pass this

There are no past documents
of an exit
Nor an entrance to such a cell

Emotions used to tattoo this tattered dessert of skin
There was
such dimension represented in reds and blues
A moment of stolen inhalation
a perceivers geneology or two
Such a conscience confidence

What else can we pierce and perceive to become taboo?

We are illegal
by living

So to make a living;
is to break the law

To break a law;
is to be illegal

A cycle presents itself
In green and crimson wrapping

Of course you opened it
After all

We were born
criminals