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s u r r e a l Jul 2017
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ᶦ ᵃᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵇᶦᵗᵉˢ ᵗᵒⁿᵍᵘᵉˢ
ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᶦˢʰᵉˢ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵇˡᵉᵉᵈ
ˢᵒ ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᶦᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵒⁿᵉ
ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ'ᵗ

ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵉᵃᵏˢ ˡᵒʳᵉ ᶦⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰˢ
ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ʷʰᵒ'ˢ
ᵉᵃʳˢ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᶠᵃˡˡᵉⁿ ᵒᵘᵗ

ᵉⁿᵛᵉˡᵒᵖᶦⁿᵍ ᶦⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶻᵉⁿ
ᵒᶠ ⁿᵒᵗ ʳᵒᵘˢᶦⁿᵍ
ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ ˢᵉᵉᶦⁿᵍ ˢᵘⁿˢ
ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ˢᶦⁿᶜᵉ ˢᵉᵗ

ᵇʳᵒʷˢᶦⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃʷᵃᶦᵗᵉᵈ ᵒᶜᶜᵃˢᶦᵒⁿ
ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉⁿᵉᵐʸ
ᵒᶠ ʷʰᵒᵐ ᴵ ᵈᶦⁿᵉ

ᶠᵉᵃˢᵗᶦⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ ᵘⁿᶜᵒᵘᵗʰ ᵐᵘᶜᵘˢ
ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᶦˡᵉ
ᵗᵒ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ᴵ ᶜʰᵒᵏᵉ ᵒⁿ ᶦᵗ

ᵃⁿᵈ ᵏⁿᵒʷ
ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵃⁿᵈᶠᵃᵗʰᵉʳ ᶜˡᵒᶜᵏ
ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ˢᵗʳᶦᵏᵉˢ ᵗʷᵉˡᵛᵉ

ᵃⁿᵈ ʳᵉˡᶦˢʰ ᶦⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵃᶜᵗ
ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ʸᵉˡˡˢ ˢᵒᵘⁿᵈ ˢᵒ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉ
ᶦᵗ ᶠᵒˢᵗᵉʳˢ ᶦⁿ ᵐʸ ᵒʷⁿ ˢᵏᵘˡˡ

ᵃⁿᵈ ᵒᵍˡᵉ ᵐʸ ᶜʰᶦⁿ
ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ.
for when the days seem so bland that you question wether this work is all for nothing, but you bite your tongue and continue anyway.
Alienpoet Sep 2016
Apocalypse redux
Interacting with our tear ducts.
We fly our flags
Until they are draped on our coffins
While weapons are tested by boffins
Sold to our enemies
Who fire them at us
While pop stars can only sing
Insipid love songs
What happened to protesting?
That's right we have give notice to the powers that be
The government which seems to control the BBC
So protests don't get reported
We are more interested in who gets deported
Than helping mankind
We bombed their countries to the brink of annihilation
Is there no room in our nihilism?
That is in our souls
We are more short sighted than moles
Love is only favouritism when we don't extend it to all of the human race
Compassion has died God cradles their face.

— The End —