people working dead end jobs, to buy things they don't need, to distract them from their 9 to 5, this isn't the circle of life, it's the circle of bullshit, but we don't quit, because we're too stupid to realise the real lies from the real world, our stories unfurl to tell the sad tales of our existence, what we live for, but what do we really live for? we live for death, because it's fucking inevitable, it comes at the worst times, the best times, long lived lives and arranged departing times, six feet high in the sky and six feet under, my mind is a blunder, blurred lines, between dreams and reality, drink your tea, stay warm, let your mind float, you don't have to vote, this democracy is incredulously insulting, people assaulting the civilians, save the people, think of the children, lock them in a pen, count to ten, now sleep tight, can I read you a story? a story about an apology to a nation, ridiculously formal and extravagantly framed upon the wall, straighten the frame, don't let it fall, fall into a slumber, cryogenic freeze, stopped in time, only pay a dime to get out of jail, but the bars were over your eyes the whole time.
YOU ARE READING
dark poems
Şiirthis seems like poetry and prose sometimes it's more than you'd suppose see, what my mind creates, goes but what that is, nobody knows
