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.