Sliding Slime

The forces of nature depict monsters and strangers
Causes of imminent danger
Blame hurts but disdain burns greater
Like inflamed coal burning black smoke
Up the ass and passed the damn throat
Never mind the trash talk
Air-head, the inflated savior
The last hope
Grave digger
This white nigger who stands on stacks to feel bigger
Triggered when seen fire beneath his feet
Thinking seas
The ship with Lincoln and King Luther sinking, bleak
Tired and unwilling to admire this old cynical liar
Truth hurts so he won’t try it
Clever illusions help with denial
Severed connections avoiding trials
Endeavor rejected…

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Voiceless Virtual Rage

As the internet continues to behave as the trashcan where we throw our opinions our collapse becomes more obvious from a distance.

Jack vents in this angered piece.
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Many of us exist in a perpetual denial of our own design. Screaming at each other, it’s unclear if its for change or to disperse the pint up energy. Casting blame in every direction of what we feel most guilty of. Unable to control these impulses.

And we continue, and continue, and continue, and nothing ever changes.

The ever increasing rage of society which began with the children which felt neglected and voiceless, like a plague contagion spread to the adults and the elderly.
But it’s never real. Our virtual personas are the monsters. In person, we’re too coward to make the same stands, but behind the safety of our electronics we find it justified to diminish the life of another. Because they aren’t real. Because we’ve never met them.
Enlightened or not. With reason or not. We believe we are justified in a pursuit. The world must know what we know, and believe what we believe the way we believe it. Because we believe it.

We’re unable to stop. It’s who we’ve become. The pause button was lost when we gave up on developing our voices in person and now even the elderly behave like children, simply trying to disperse this brokenness we’ve been handed.

There’s no fix in sight and the rain clouds will make it over the hills soon. They’re coming our way. We’ve never seen an umbrella so there is no protection. We’re stuck screaming.

It’s what we do. We point fingers here, and…

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