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bleach is liquid
Rejuvenation
Like bleach in a syringe.
I look at little people
Who say they aren’t little,
Look how tall they are!
I see cowards
Who say our courage is in what we survive,
Yet their survival is cowardly!
I hear poets talk about their metaphors,
But it’s the lack of poetry that astounds me;
And philosophers with their theories.
Theories, which deserve the title of Myth,
But it is not becoming.
Small children becoming
Adults who will be coming
In whatever they can find to cum in.
They aren’t sluts, they are married,
But this is whatever they could find!
Two cell masses who had to callous up their insecurities
So they could play the game of adulthood.
This game with real life babies.
Real life babies suffer through this,
If only it was only the Christians
Who took the game serious enough to condone this.
And suicidal people seem to forget,
Suicidal people should not be alive.
Alive people seem to forget it isn’t how others remember you,
It is what you remember as the others forget you.
As the others forget you
You cry the tears
Of a pack animal.
Herded animals run to whoever will take them.
Whoever will take them?
And slaughterhouses aren’t about the slaughter,
They are about the metaphor.
The metaphor isn’t about poetry,
It is about coping.
Coping isn’t talent.
Talent is realizing
We need hydration in the form of liquid.
Bleach is liquid.
