By Miguel Campos

They came from heaven. Where there is plenty of everything.

Cloaked in death, reeking of blood.

They descend upon the Wretched with an insatiable hunger.

Some come armed, wielding the fruits of their research.

Weapons made from the blood of their conquest, and guts which roar with anticipation of their next meal.

They come with their Angels, soaring high in the Sky.

Not messengers of hope but bringers of wrath.

Sending hellfire from above.

Instilling fear below.

Fear of socializing, isolation, violence, living.

Dreams become nightmares, for the Angels have no quarrel with sending hellfire into the home.

There is no sanctuary.

Friends become combatants for gathering outside in their sight.

There is no organizing.

Families become victims, interrogated and brutalized for suspect collusion.

No one is innocent.

All are guilty of existing.

Others come with suits, not armed with weapons but gluttonous wallets.

Bloated with their spoils.

They chain the earth to the heavens, with great veins.

Draining the blood from their decrepit factories.

Leaving the Wretched with nothing but suffering, only the sight of their banquet in the clouds above.

Any scent of resistance is threatened by their Wrath.

It could be a whisper, precise in its targeting.

Or an Echo created by their subjects, echoing their master’s will.

They watch with anticipation in their bellies.

Let them watch.

They have created their downfall in this fear of living.

In this process of their consumption.

Those who do not fear death.

For they have made life hell.

What is here to fear if one is already in hell?

Those fearless, who wish to rip earth free of heaven, to sever each vein and starve the place of plenty.

Cry out to the Wretched, speaking of their conclusions, the reality of it all.

Heaven is run by Satan.

Attacking their demons on the ground, with knives, guns, fists.

Discovering they bleed.

Turning tools into weapons, becoming strategists, becoming soldiers.

No longer fearing their wrath, instead retaliating in Kind.

Not caring about their weapons, or the destruction they wrought.

Only caring.

Only satisfied.

With making Satan bleed.

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About nietodecampos



Imperialism, Media & Culture, National Liberation


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