Bones Like Paper Planes

Walk her into the room
Shackle her wrists in old iron chains

Cover her head in water
Tear off her clothes
Kneel her before the alter
Force her to pray
To an imaginary conscience

Mention not her name
But her race
Her religion

And her family crumbles

I hear Tiananmen Square

Is kind of quiet these days
Push drugs into her veins
Pull the truth out of her lungs

She catches a glimpse

Of an eagle

Through the stained glass windows
A tear rips through her left eye

And one hundred and eighty seven soldiers
Salute to their country heartlessly

Bones like paper planes

Skulls containing beautiful brains

All go to waste

When mushroom clouds engulf cities

Roughly count the bodies

Build a stone pillar

Carve their names

Because somehow that helps

Even stone crumbles.

-Emile