A Day in the Life of the Human Race (Poetry Volume I)

Rebirth

Sometimes I wonder if it is possible for people to choke on their own happiness.

When they experience so much of it that it decides they're being greedy and turns on them.

Chokes them,

Rips any leftover life from their lungs and stabs their own eyeballs out.

The blood runs,

It pours down their face as though it was a fountain of a remembrance of better days.

Before life and everything in it,

Became so very plastic.

So very superficial.

So very meaningless.

So very...

Empty.

So very, absorbed.

Absorbing their own self image as if it was a picture yet to be developed,

My brain hurts.

I haven't used it enough and now I am demanding too much of it to comprehend in such a small amount of time.

How it was a matter of two cloudy nights and sunny days for everything to be taken away,

I pray that I will be reborn.

For the only thing that ever births redemption are the last final traces of tragedy in their wake.

In order for a new beginning to be found everything must be burned to the ground.

Allow us to grow again.

Allow us to be born again.

We deserve to feel the light again.