The Brutality of Existence

 

We are Life

And

We are Death

And

We are

Swelling with

Wet leaves burdening our hollowed bones

From growth of generations

Harnessed against the

Oh so necessary, systems

That were

Forced upon us like

Unwanted lovers

Indenting fleshy thighs

In a boisterous room

Filled with terribly silent mouths

We are a creation of power,

Nestled in its soil

Like a bulb finding home

With roots, drenched

 In the life blood of those before us

Tendrils seeping under our skin like

Loose tea leaves,

Comfortable yet,

Bathing in boiling water that

Visibly sears our existence yet

Encases us like an all to white mug

Balanced on a wooden table,

We are

Begging to live

And

Begging to die.

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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