Wednesday, August 18, 2010

is a mess

this is an aching bubble
the air inside getting hotter and hotter
but for some reason
the bubble never bursts

this is my heart
though it may not look like it.
what you see on the street
is just a man who talks for a living
but when i come home,
my God how i think.

this is my job
i work for the man who eats his fellow man
from the tables of death.
he justifies his cannibalism telling us,
"it's just how the game is played"

when he's the one making the rules,
we can't hope for anything but the day we are set free.

and when this is finished
you and i will come home,
we'll say grace,
we'll say goodnight.
and all anyone will know of us
is that we did our best
to survive.

but you and i will know
how we loved.

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