A Modern Human's Discomfort

Under the milk-shine
Ancient soul brine
Murder of the daily grind
Looking at you, what do I find?
No religion in our minds
No way to pass the time
No more words to rhyme.
Stuck here I watch as you die

And cry

and sigh

When can we fly?
Why aren’t you high?

Listen to me whine

Let’s get out of this pig-sty
“Don’t hurt yourself,” I reply.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *