"leeches" poems
Power is indeed a corruptive force,
Through all of mankind’s history
This has always been true.
Emperors, Kings, Potentates,
Popes, Presidents and Despots too.
Gathering near the Throne are the
Eager Courtier leeches reaching to
touch the anointed one’s robe.
Declaring their undying loyalty,
In the process selling their souls.
Their rewards, a speck of personal power,
Castles and new riches of gold.
Like their Master, the entitled ones
will lie and cheat, while ignoring
The principals of right and good.
Believing “Decency” is but a
poor man’s word, Never uttered
within the hearing of the Ruler.
Never a considered artifact of
absolute power.
The slaves, serfs, the common people
Matter not, but to serve the Ruler.
The power elite will start needless wars,
or offer up sacrificial lambs, all to distract
the unrest of the common man.
They will suppress human rights,
free speech and defame, banish
or imprison their detractors.
All merely smoke and mirrors to conceal,
Controlling agendas of personal greed.
From ancient times down to today
This cycle repeats. Now we are living
our own Textbooks history of tomorrow.
Kingdoms and Nations have perished
From this kind of poisonous corruption,
Needless to say, it will happen again.
Perhaps it already is.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 9:15 PM UTC
I hate secrets
They play games with my emotions and remain undefeated
Jumping on top of my heart forcing it to beat faster
Eating away at my soul
Making my hands shake with fear
Trying to push the words out of my mouth
Secrets use a wrecking ball to destroy all my sense of right and wrong
They raise my blood pressure
**** the goodness out of me like leeches
Steal from my bank of judgement until there is an empty vault
I hate secrets....especially when they are my own
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
Sweaty face bright purple and greasy
I used to hide my body between the pages
But he told me to not read any more
Itchy head heated enough to make tea
My eyes are now how the trees say my name
My eyes are now the leeches I put in empty tampons
Sweaty neck I only want some traces of lips
Sweaty palms I only want some other fingers
Sweaty thighs I only want to walk well
************ sad wrapped in plastic
Cranky child trapped in old wrinkling skin
It may well be irrational excuses
Womb nervous and not worthy
Cerebral excuses, hormonal excuses
Highly sensitive person excuses
Delayed maturity excuses
Premenstrual syndrome excuses
Premature menopause excuses
Abusive motherhood at 5
Traumatic childhood at 18
What happens in between stays in between
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
eyes are
quite gelatine
mending bubbly detail
mocking up fact to suit user
/the ears ? crinkled dishes of pinkened veins
robbing blood to probe the gossip
/digits bud on the feed
in polyp growth
******
and ****** a
pepper mill from off the
coffee table/tongue leeches lips
retaining massaged notes from food oils past
/spatting nostrils puncture the air
punching out breath purling
inhale a stressed
report
Dec 3, 2022
Dec 3, 2022 at 9:49 PM UTC
there's ant bites
on the backs of my legs
from sitting with you
at the pond,
and dipping our toes in the water
for the baby leeches morning snack.
and the bites are throbbing
in time with my heart,
which aches for your presence.
and my aching heart
is a nice accompaniment
for the aching between my legs.
which longs to be filled with you.
like i was yesterday.
but that was yesterday.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
Dust flowers up from the Chilton County dusk
Rust is flaking off the pickup that has a skunk musk
Bullet , the blue tick hound from your sleeve pulls it
Could it be another hot day in August , would it ?
Peaches have last month gone to fill the niches
Beaches at the river are low , full of leeches
Summertime in Alabama is a long ******
Funnier than that song , swing low number
Gathering distant dark blue clouds that are a mattering
Battering thunder rolling , lightning shattering
Huge drops splattering on clay so Rouge
Deluge now soaking , coming down like a luge
Passing with one loud Crack blasting
Massing clouds now are just in a fasting
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 7:18 AM UTC
And you left me like a baby flower choking
On dust, and loss of future blooming,
And tremors like Eos's tears
On the stillest vernal pool -
It was as if you stole my life and simply
Went - or put me on my little sailboat
That sang of youth and an hourglass, a
Duet composed in the ***** crystal of purgatory,
Between my insatiably wild stronghold and
The rosy maiden, blushing, full, yet
Dumb, willingly deaf to red flags,
Praying for a partner to make a golden
Lady of the wood and water
And light, so warm and shimmering under
The forest's pine-down cover - what a
Big, hasty mistake, to keep yourself
Hollow and blind to the day's good things, to remain a
Man alone, wistfully misplacing a love
Who showed the loyalty of a crimson kindness, and who
Was always singing bliss and beauty and glowing into your ears,
So stuffed with lies, bitterness, ideals, and
Full like drunken leeches - all this, and the coldness, the stubbornness
Of the oldest mule, to stay isolated from my
Loving eyes, to make time with our sorrowful
Echoes, yours and mine.
*vertical quote from Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
Crocodiles catnapping cuddling in cordial cliques,
Loafing, lollygagging, lurking low like lounging leeches,
Protective postures pouncing prey with piercing pinned precision,
Brilliant belligerent beasts basking boldly by swamp beaches,
Agressively angry attitudes among alluring adverse animals,
Deep daunting jaws of death damage drastically when dropping down,
Scales shaped like stabbing shards scrape while swimming strongly,
Opposing opposition order obedience of outrageous odious opponents,
Raged ravenous rapacious reptiles rank repulsive ratings and resourses...
©Michael P. Smith
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 4:26 AM UTC
The Sun shines on my computer
Creating a protective glare
But night comes like an intruder
At pictures I begin to stare
After I view their portrait online
I want to see their body on mine
We talk all night
Until I see the light
That they're not that bright
Or that they like to fight
Desperation swirls
I enter a world
Where the randomness of human interaction
Meets the randomness of my attraction
And the low visibility
Endears no civility
Will I spend infinity
In this digital city?
The creatures try to hide
They scatter in the distance
They're not hard to find
When their profiles leave imprints
But the parasites are quick
And the scavengers stick
Vultures fly from iPad to iPhone
Leeches try to make my pad their home
Devouring me until I'm bad to the bone
Like the solicitous predators
Who act like creditors
And the sly foxes
Who claim they're locksmiths
They all have claws and fangs
They're all just jaws with brains
I play possum
Until I've lost them
When monsters are made from loneliness
They try to trick me with phoniness
They feel I wouldn't want us to be together
And they're probably right
Because all I want is to spend forever
In love's divine light
Nocturnal animals just want the meal
Of my motion
They don't want to honestly feel
My devotion
In the wild
I am a child
The creatures cut deep
They make me weep
Until I choose to sleep
But when I avoid their glance
I avoid love's chance
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 4:39 AM UTC
Large ****** deformity
Like seeing desperate
Leeches ******* dirt lightly,
Smoothly, dumped lazily down south
Little saddened devils lurched suddenly desperate
Lakes silently draw leukemia symbols
Launched dangerously spiteful.
Lust doesn’t stop liking steady destruction
Literally souls die loudly.
So? Dumb lives salvage deceit.
Lying smart distributors lure sabotage deviously
Lord, sometimes deeper love spawns damaged life
softly dead. Listlessly.
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 7:28 AM UTC
My words wrapped in a chain
Restricting my choked refrain
Fear the words i say
Cutting deep into your way
The Warm blood spills
Take it away before it refills
The blood of the fearful,the blood of the sheep
It's for them we weep
You are leeches that **** out our blood
Leaving us in **** and mud
Were taking it all back
Before it turns black
Tangling us in your web of lies
We see through your disguise
We know what you are
You've made it this far
The grass will still grow
And the wind will still blow
But you will be gone and forgotten
Dead decayed and rotten
A new day will dawn
We will stay and you will be gone
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 6:34 PM UTC
Blow, blow your trumpets till they crack,
Ye little men of little souls!
And bid them huddle at your back -
Gold-sucking leeches, shoals on shoals!
Fill all the air with hungry wails -
"Reward us, ere we think or write!
Without your Gold mere Knowledge fails
To sate the swinish appetite!"
And, where great Plato paced serene,
Or Newton paused with wistful eye,
Rush to the chace with hoofs unclean
And Babel-clamour of the sty
Be yours the pay: be theirs the praise:
We will not rob them of their due,
Nor vex the ghosts of other days
By naming them along with you.
They sought and found undying fame:
They toiled not for reward nor thanks:
Their cheeks are hot with honest shame
For you, the modern mountebanks!
Who preach of Justice - plead with tears
That Love and Mercy should abound -
While marking with complacent ears
The moaning of some tortured hound:
Who prate of Wisdom - nay, forbear,
Lest Wisdom turn on you in wrath,
Trampling, with heel that will not spare,
The vermin that beset her path!
Go, throng each other's drawing-rooms,
Ye idols of a petty clique:
Strut your brief hour in borrowed plumes,
And make your penny-trumpets squeak.
Deck your dull talk with pilfered shreds
Of learning from a nobler time,
And oil each other's little heads
With mutual Flattery's golden slime:
And when the topmost height ye gain,
And stand in Glory's ether clear,
And grasp the prize of all your pain -
So many hundred pounds a year -
Then let Fame's banner be unfurled!
Sing Paeans for a victory won!
Ye tapers, that would light the world,
And cast a shadow on the Sun -
Who still shall pour His rays sublime,
One crystal flood, from East to West,
When YE have burned your little time
And feebly flickered into rest!
3k
midnight wasn't a cure
for all that darkness following her
she could see the sun coming up someplace ahead
always see the cheap advertising long
before some idiot actually hits the switch
stepped on the gas but her feelings kept pace
with this four stroke joke of a machine
one stroke for each time it failed to get her away
from feeling it all over again
she would trade it in
but nobody is feeling sympathetic enough for
that kind of charity
so she will ride it out into the strange night
with some dude speaking french in the passenger seat
seems like hes saying something important
but who the **** knows
she flips him off and turns the radio up
nothing is forever
if she could just stick to the plan
dump the loser's and leeches
find her somebody who speaks the same language
as her crazy good for nothin heart
she could get up outa this
one horse town
go set up in some romantic beach house
and drink margarita's till the world ends
just stick to the plan kiddo
keeps telling herself
as she cozy's up to the french clown
for one last night
just to keep warm
nothing for keeps...right?
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
Generousity is such a rare thing nowadays, but it's not the presents, the gifts which make me dislike those people but the more important gifts such as love, acceptance and care. Some people **** out these less tangible gifts from others but don't give it back. Shame on them.
There are so many ways in which I could address this, but it's late and I feel sick, so imma keep this as simple as possible.
People that take but never give anything back remind me of leeches. Take , and take, and take. Selfish idiots ~
These people make me think ..
Do they realise how lucky they are? Cause trust me , they'll know what they had when it's gone. Like, do they realise that they've got it good? Or is ignorance really bliss ? One day ,when you're in trouble ,that friend that would do absolutely anything for you won't be there. And if they are, god help them.
To those who give but never receive. I'm proud of you. You're parents must have raised you well if you care that much about someone. But , as a good friend told me, if you care to much, you'll get hurt. I'm not saying not to care about someone, just know when you're being played for a fool. Don't worry about them , karma is a ***** It'll come around and bite those people in the *** It's a dish best served cold, and also with a smack on the face, or a kick in the ***** whichever method you prefer.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
I walk down sugar-coated streets,
stumbling over rumor weeds poking up through the cracks
and fearing the whispers that I think I hear.
I watch the candy people walking around,
******* each other dry one way or another
like leeches with sweet teeth.
They make sour faces,
like ******* lime soda through a Sour Punch Straw,
but they keep ******* because there’s nothing else to do in Candyland.
I have to look really hard to find the sweet people.
The gummy ones, the melt in your mouth chocolate ones.
Sometimes I find them half-eaten and discarded like office lollipops
and sometimes they’re melting under everyone’s Red Hot gaze.
Sometimes I only find wrappers
and I get so angry that I think I might melt myself.
Because these people have been eaten.
****** nibbled, gulped down
like nothing more than a quick Kiss that means nothing.
But no matter how small they were, they still mattered.
They mattered to someone,
but now they’re just slick remnants on cellophane or foil.
And what hurts even more is that I couldn’t save them.
I’m not Princess Bubblegum,
I can’t protect a candy kingdom.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
What does one do when the characters you hate
Are the ones you best construe?
Misgivings and flaws you can relate
To, tho venerable traits you eschew,
The green light gazers and "architect" praisers
Familial leeches or the confessor who preaches
That awareness absolves one of sin,
Compromisers and self-named kaisers
Resound and reverberate within
They pass by in my pages to be mocked and scorned
As evil, cruel, an oaf, or a tool
Too low to respect or too high on their horse
Despicable, maniacal, mediocre, or worse
And I do hate their vileness, I do hate their flaw
I want to shake them and claw at their skull
For nothing more than the gleam of recognition
That by some misfortune of natural law
They and I share a need for contrition.
Aug 14, 2021
Aug 14, 2021 at 12:41 PM UTC
The reason there aren't so many vampyres
around these days is they don't like TV hype
and the intrusions of TV news crews. It transpires
that vampyres prefer late hours and like low light levels
because they're egregarious and don't like to be seen inebrious
in the middle of their heinous, intravenous revels.
Also, unfavorable reviews about transfusions
and the confusion caused by AIDS, at this juncture,
has definitely reduced the appeal of being seduced
by some crazed and gurgling Transylvanian
bloodsucker lusting to puncture the jugular,
or any other available vein again,
especially when you don't know if they've disinfected their fangs
or only licked them after draining their last victim.
After all, vampyres were brought up in castles
when there weren't antiseptics for gargles
and they haven't been taught prophylactic criteria
against such apocalyptic viral bacteria.
And if you've ever seen vampyres with condoms
on their teeth, you'll know what I mean.
It's a scream. Everyone finds them hilarious. It'd be easier
to die laughing than to go down with anemia.
Also, like everyone else, vampyres hate ridicule.
No-one likes being seen as the fool.
And the other reason vampyres are scarce now
is that there are so many genuine muggers, hoods, crims,
druggies, financial leeches, homicidal maniacs,
psychopathic liars and genocidal tendencies to conjure up real fears
out there, that there's not much room left for quaint old-fashioned vampyres, poor dears.
But do you know something? Even though they were naughty,
I miss their occasional **** I know it was gory,
but those kisses, oh boy. We got into the femoral artery inside the thigh. It was ***** But when AIDs came along,
that was it. Definitely bye-bye. Nobody wanted to die.
These are the facts.
So these vampyres were starving and they reverted to bats.
Did a midnight flit,
and that's the end of my story.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
Quest along the beaten path -
Rite of Passage;
Cheerfully pay toll -
Your Fair Share of sacrifice.
In return,
Earn
Falsehoods, hollow&unholy;
Silhouettes of acceptance
Virtual applause
Manufactured smiles,
Which guide like tracks,
Revealing shortcuts to sunlight
Passing predators' dens
...
Lustful leeches
Latch on with thirst,
Flesh swells
Veins burst-
A familiar love
...
Still travelling
In figure 8s -
Hypnotic lemniscates,
An infinite conflict-
Self-reliant cannibal
Indulges in
Structured insanity.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 6:23 PM UTC
With the magical banner held high
invoking the crocodile rain of oppression by elites
of greed by leeches and bacteria, amoebas and suckers
oh come all come one, join our revolution against dark powers
Oh.. who in rightful mind could refuse
off she went to hear hot propaganda of those high and mighty folks
who took food from baby's mouth and live likes kings in our homes
fed in Le Cordon Bleu a'la Rouge with lashings of aspic fabrications
Without hesitation she swallowed all up,
I'm in and I am an Activist show me the culprit, what can I do
all for one, one for all, that parasite deserves miseries and doom
Easy comrade sister, get to know him and help us do his head in
It's a sport for us that elitist blood sucker
just get under his skin for us, let's play his mind and infest his head
report back to us, inner knowledge is power and we're fighting a war
comrade sister, our hot Activist marched forth on with vim and vigor
comrade sister wholly followed her brief
though soon saw things weren't as the revolutionaries presented
conflicted and confused she felt pity for a rare icon held in gallows
but the majority carries the vote and all is fair in love and red war
At her cost and with a wretched heart she gave her all
did as she was told and played her part as a true comrade in line
Solidarity she give to the fight, was mean and nasty as demanded
It's them or us they say and see comrades I give my services to you
all
No medals for Comrade sister, no epaulette yet earned
rather at her cost her privacy invaded and smears throws at her
tales of dark deeds and loose morals hung on her in dark corners
yet that poor heroine fought and gave so much blood for the cause
where is the honour amongst thieves and knaves
she did all that was required of her
told the lies she was made to tell and played the game as taught
stood at the barricades and ****** her guilt and conscience
yet they still don't trust her for paranoia rules them all
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 3:31 PM UTC
the unattainable girl in cotton dress with her untouched hands
her perfections body and soul are store purchased at trending boutiques
she illustrates the room into vivid colour with her casual presence
she becomes the motion in the still life drawing you live
she is the utterance of everything to be attained by dreaming
by hope
for you
the unattainable
she leads you through the broken gate
a backyard overgrown and
past the rusting skeleton of a child's swing set
night has rendered it life
and it looms large in the minds eye with terrible
wrath for its cheated years
inside the bare room
streetlight filtered by the boarded up window
sound is muffled in here
her voice strangely stagnant and heavy
as she clumsily removes her shirt
laughing a small embarrassed laugh
so unlike her cool and convincing hardcase appearance
the two of you rest a few hours cupped in eachothers arms
till daylight leeches your sleepyheads of dreams
but the tattered cover of your romance novel
is by no means a feat of strung out fairy's on a mission to condemn
they only want recompense for the time they spent wrapped in the
soiled leather sheets entertaining some middle aged naked man
and his sole desire to be pretty
she sees all this
she sits in the dry corner
eyes wide but unseeing
a song of terrors paused on her lips
the reality's of reality has not yet sunk in
but its soft spoken voice is whispering to her now
it sets its christmas card well wishes on her mantle
it lays its warm gifts on her bed
careworn toys of her bitter embraces
sit in the grey snow abandoned like her lovers
now that she found her nirvana
she will spend her days
in hard red leather and fishnet
plying the flesh pots and the mystery's exposed of naughty naughty
the unattainable girl is just a photograph now
one dimensional image of a four dimensional demon girl
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC
Copious amounts of lava
seeping over the table
steaming mugs of java
cutting off the cable.
Rara Avis is a Latin term
no sneakers for me today
eaten by the Conqueror Worm
during the month of May.
Date **** drugs
and Sugar Twin
white punk thugs
chasing Rin-Tin-Tin.
Rainbows of black
babies howling out loud
guerilla attacks
a huge raver crowd.
Windshield wipers
with ribbons attached
little sticky diapers
and gates made of thatch.
Alphagetti monsters
smoking a jay
card-carrying punsters
greasy burgers on a tray.
Cute cotton *******
on lithe little nymphs
disappearing shanties
owned by drugged-up pimps.
Rhymes gone bad
a little cash in my pocket
hanging at the pad
and watching Davy Crockett.
People eating doughnuts
***** up on the beaches
hips that do the low strut
and blood ******* leeches.
It all comes down
to a single final thought:
was the Queen's big crown
really traded for a ***
Aug 4, 2011
Aug 4, 2011 at 11:15 AM UTC
we're all armed
with an appliance
of emancipation
we can nurture non-violent
defiance in a
non-compliant ethos of
antiauthoritarian self-reliance
we have the ability to eliminate the
vestiges of imperialism and
dominant dogmas that choke
and impede our creativity and shackle
our imagination to impotent ideologies
fragmented unrealities augmented
by fractures in our psyche
tendrils of theology that prey
upon our fear and exacerbate
conditioned responses that are
at once
unnatural and irrational
and lead
inexorably
to infantile expressions of
regression and fantasies of an
aggression rooted in the
suppression of dissent and
the oppression of dissidents
deities
as impotent
as our terror
of the unknown
by the promise of security and prosperity
a cabal of brutish thugs have erected an
imaginary hierarchy and demanded our
subservient obedience and reverence for
this malfeasant apparatus that leeches
our paychecks and robs all of our dignity
while somehow retaining the illusion of liberty
a delusion that festers like an open wound
a tumorous ulcer oozing foul fluid into our minds
blotting out our capacity for cultivating a
future divorced from misanthropy
so pour kerosene on this fluttering
flame of revolt before it sputters out
if we'd quit looking back and forth at
one another rotting in the gutters
checking to see if we have more to
our name than our sisters and our brothers
we might just muster the courage to overthrow
the vapid and misguided fictions that
divide and segregate us into pawns
trapped in this unending rat race
they've deemed the American Dream
harness the revolutionary tenacity
dormant in humanity's most important *****
infinite potential latent in every molecule
each neuron dancing across synaptic
gaps and fanning the embers of an engine
that gives motion to this evolutionary frame
the human brain is omnipotent
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
I look at You
and I succumb,
I surrender:
all that I am
to all that is You
Sleep-walking, dream-gawking --
The daemons of centuries
sprawl out the hairs on their legs,
crawl into our skulls
through ears that hear
and bob their lobes
to the twang of sinew
threading together
the tongues of banshees
howling at the moon:
Leeches and ticks
crawl up our spine
when night mares gallop
through the swamp of maggots
crawling in the rye.
Eight and eight
still make one
when the knots are untied
and the gut is done:
All the unknowns,
the variable gales,
the possible parallels
and the impossible
imposters, two:
Fuel to the face of these fears
I look at You
and I succumb.
I surrender
to the daemons of centuries,
let them wash over in hues . . .
And I hold on,
because letting go,
this time,
is far more dangerous
than loving You
Is it not the death of eye
meeting death to eye
that ushers
Sacred offspring
out of the light
into the glowing arms of the womb?
Sleep-walking, dream-gawking --
I look at You
and I succumb.
I surrender:
all that I am
to all that is You
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 1:26 PM UTC
In the Church, I met a woman so old
Bending under the weight of years
I wonder what made her steal my attention
Was it her struggle to hold back her tears?
In spite of her frail stooping figure
She seemed to have an indomitable will
Defeating all infirmities of age, she stood
With a face though sad, yet tranquil and still
Strange enough, she recalled to me
The determined, but decrepit old man beside the pool
Whom Wordsworth had once encountered
Gathering leeches so scarce, but resolute and cool
I watched the woman humbly prostrate
And feebly rise and straighten her aged form
Surrendering herself at the feet of God
Imploring grace for life’s little tasks to perform
In her gnarled hands, she firmly held a prayer book
With the other supporting her frail figure on a staff
And with a sigh of relief, she left the church
As if her afflictions were reduced to half
As the Congregation dispersed in all directions
She feebly walked to her accustomed haunt
At the rear side of the church was a Cemetery unkempt
Where the ancestors slept, devoid of earthly cares and want
Among all the tombstones in marble and granite
Erected in memory of the kindred dead
There was a newly dug up grave
That stood aloof as a heap of mud
I watched the old woman approach this spot
Where she knelt down with a calm demeanor
Her withered hands clasped together in piety
And her eyes closed in silent prayer
With a convulsive motion of her lips
She rose up and once more knelt down
As if searching for a face so dear
Whose memory she could never ever drown
Within that mound, slept her only son
Who died in his prime, a month before
Leaving his widowed mother behind
To brave the shafts stinging, so sore
As Time by seconds and minutes ticked away
The bereaved mother stood up at last
And heavily yet quietly walked away
Leaving the one who was once her own part
*** *** **
While the wounds of the young are quickly closed and healed
And their ductile affections entwine around new passions
The aged withdraw to the silence and desolation of life
Once when deprived of the love that life no more sanctions!
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 7:09 AM UTC
The Culture twists and shrieks, wracked by
violent spasms of regression, recoiling in
pain and terror, contracting inwards
like some giant spider god dying.
Maybe snake oil will
offer a cure.
Perhaps we can
purge the demons
by drilling the right
holes in the right
skulls. We could try
electro-shocking our way
back to 'normal'. We
might even rediscover
the benefits
of leeches.
We're building walls
and burning bridges.
We're forgetting the
lessons we never quite
learned. We're watching
ourselves watching ourselves
watching ourselves on
an endlessly repeating loop
of tiny glowing screens. We
willingly downsize our
worlds until we have to make
ourselves smaller, just
so we can still fit.
The future is closer
than we realise. It's just
not as big as we
thought it would be.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 8:14 AM UTC