It Was Just for Fun

The black crow lays, on a bed of crowns. will it raise hell or die like a king? will it inspire the greater for better bounds? broken wings, broken beak and broken eyes. no comfort in this world of insane bipedes : it just existed but they hate its natural stance so they tortured it for sport and pleasure until they made it king of the night, for fun but it was never to be tempered with, the law of natural orders will strike. what about me in all this? i stand with the hardest of headaches and nothing can stop it, not even you, and this nausea lingers on and on. so many years spent as this black crow pretending to be someone i am not, pretending to be everything they'd want. i've been broken and i didn't even notice it. the black crow lays on a bed of thorns, the blood still flowing from its beak chocking its own life away, slowly and they are watching, laughing. i wonder : would they still laugh if it would be their sons and daughters at my stance.the black crow vanished from its bed and elevated itself as a guardian spirit and it will make sure these torturers get the nausea they deserve for inflicting mindless pain.