With their indifference
lack of patience
and hostility
they scream at me,

“Go back to sleep
you black sheep.
We do not care
about the struggles
of all you others.
We do not regard
your pain as true
Or even equal to
our own.

Go back to sleep
and take the scraps.
Unless we decide
to take those back
trimming your thin skin
and adding to our fat.

Go back to sleep black sheep.
You are not allowed to leave.
We get to keep
you trapped in our greed
while we take what you need.
Just stay asleep
working and dying
while we are
high life flying.
Go to sleep…..

Wait wake up.
Another other
is coming for your stuff.
Vote for us.

Good little sheep,
now go back to sleep
to work and die for me.

Clinging upon a fevered momentum of reality
I was conversed into vomiting the graves of others
wishes. I buried them in silence but they vocalized
every shovel of my buring empathy, I didn't care!

I crawled on emotion but mine never decomposed on
the reflections that faded with there's. I hit the hilt
of my constitution and obscured their voice on mine.
I was an illusion of there creation, illusion of verse.

*"Less creation of verse is a motion of my creation,

Red wasp stopped by the window
Man stopped by the world ,
only the surface of said world he truly
knows , running from fire , calmed by rainbows ,
on one knee praising mountains , before oceans
declaring them to be gods , amused with frogs ,
chaining dogs , slaughtering cattle , turning his
brethren into pawns
Explorers smashed in windshields
Warring , painful sequels
Always on the surface of the window
Seeking more* ...