Since 1973

You see, these walls we build

Are to separate purity from filth

Yet we,

Rose above them

And became beings without a name

Mixing white with black

And getting blood

Instead of an obvious gray

•••

What a play

To live like there’s no tomorrow

It’s like wasting today

For an immediate future

You will never get

•••

It’s like flooding a delicate crop

with juice, made out of it’s own nectar

Or to rip tailored clothes apart,

to get back to having cloth without a shape,

and run naked

•••

What would you do? if every year you ‘lived’

shrank down to two: to settle or to possess

a mind that wasn’t thinking of you.

Faith, like ants feeding on crumbles of our leftovers

Ate us raw

We are cannibals, homicidal, cynical

•••

Open up that newspaper, from 1973

And the year after

And the year after

Needless to say

Decades away

We were still a virus

Without a cure

And we have only evolved

To a more accepted form

Of hell

•••

Funny, for you thought evil meant

listening to metal and getting tattoed above your neck

The darker a person seems the lighter ‘it’ becomes

Why tagline human beings as species

We are anything but beings

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Published by

S.K.

This right here, keeps me sane. You will find here, sincere thoughts mixed up with a subconscious trying to fuck it all up. I hope you understand.

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