We are nothing but an empty shell,
Filling our voids with warm things to feel alive,
A composition of ravished corpses of once
Living beings that will warm our dead inside.

We are nothing but animals,
Playing human every day, faking empathy and emotion,
Playing God every day, ravaging and killing our host,
Beautiful lands left with nothing but corruption.

We are nothing but greed,
A broken people cutting their skin with green paper,
Pretending this is what true happiness means,
Killing each other for the bliss of coins.

Desperately fighting my rotten ego,
I pour blood into this empty vessel, the cage of my soul,
The core of a virus pretending to live righteously,
Yet I know that this version of me is indifferent.
A parasite.

he sat on the broken rock,
mesmerised by the morning blue of the sky,
he could see the little mermaid,
going in and out with each wave

he could see the mountains,
and their shadow, floating-
like the dead bodies in any sea
with wind.

how normal failure is,
he thought in a moment of pause,
how normal it is, to not be alive,
the little man said a little louder from the deepest architect of his mind.

he sat wondering about what he came to know,
he sat wandering about in the fields of drought and flowers, insignificance and knowledge,
of thirst and hunger, and something alien that comes with those two.

he sat where he could see the sky and it's blue, and he wondered, lost-
if the sky could ever see or know, how beautiful it is and was ?

and he thought to himself, is that is why there are lakes and ocean's, he blamed-
is that is why it rains ?