Synthetic Pathogen Design

The laboratory floor reflects a cold and clinical white.
I weave the strands of slaughter in the middle of the night.
No natural mutation could achieve this perfect sting.
I am the secret architect of every dying thing.

I strip the ancient sequences and splice the jagged code,
preparing every human lung to finally explode.
The glass is thin and fragile between the world and my design.
I’m drinking down the power like a vintage heavy wine.

A protein-coated bullet aimed at every beating heart.
A masterpiece of agony I’m tearing wide apart.

I watch the liquid simmer in the silver centrifuge,
a microscopic army for a massacre so huge.
It bypasses the marrow and it bypasses the bone,
a solitary predator that hunts the world alone.

I imagine every city turning into a morgue,
a biological correction for the carbon-heavy forge.
The symptoms are a cascade of fluid and of flame,
a sudden punctuation mark that doesn’t have a name.

I’m lacing up the future with a calculated rot,
feeding every single thing the evolution forgot.

The vent is humming softly as I prep the final phase,
watching the society dissolve into a haze.
The morning sun is hitting on the stainless steel door.
I see a single drop of death upon the sterile floor.

The airlock is a gateway to a silent empty street
where every single person is a pile of rotting meat.
I’ll walk into the sunlight with the vial inside my hand
and plant the seeds of silence in this weary broken land.

The spiral is a ladder leading down into the grave.
There isn’t any algorithm left for me to save.
I’m engineering darkness in a pressurized room,
designing the delivery of a universal doom.

I spill the liquid on the dirt and watch the air begin to turn,
leaving every single bridge and every single house to burn.