The graves are innumerable, a sea 

of no less, not fewer, 
each wake held palpable from screens, 
a scream at humanity. 
They brandished deep, polished fangs, biting 
until bones overtook blood.
Let them ramble to the open sky: their sins 
will serve to multiply. 
Hysterical, cursed, or wicked, their projections
will catch their phantom hearts. 
Where they drove your tranquil to madness, 
we will drive all to stillness — 
they remain ignorant they injected venom
into a poisonous body.