A Rhetorical Plea

...rebuilt for a purpose more odious than mine. With a vest on my chest and these knifes in my back, the lack of a heart is a sign of attack. He waves me away on this boxcar silhouette, as my arm was sceptered, deciphered, by the teeming threat of the knowledge that seeps. The knowledge I seek, how innocent how precarious and wasting away, as more rocks are uneven as they are thrown against the day.