RIP Winston Smith: Two-Minute Hate

Everything is holy. Everything a mirage.
I took my place in the middle row, become

saturated by the machine grinder voice
pounding us into hisses and bleats,

firing up to a delirious bloodlust frenzy;
then I saw you, closed fist punching

the air, a vengeful angel ready to kill to die
0ur minds akimbo in this rampant madness.

This city is a dark star in a windowless room
you take my hand play with my coat buttons

ask me if I want to be free, as if one death
will be enough to quench my thirst.