heads roll off the guillotine floor
like crumbs onto the floor when
eating over-cooked cookies,
shame on us for not seeing what
was right in front of us...
light rain falls into our eyes as
we gaze into the heavens for
a little godly advice... knowing
it will never be received while
acting as the devil's consort...
dreams of a better life float
through our minds each and
every evening, we remain poor,
like the heads off the guillotine
floor we have no way of judging
how quickly we will fall...
death to us all eventually but
earlier for some who resist
against the system that brought
them here and gave them life,
we are what we eat, as the trite
saying goes when being delivered
from the self-inflicted evils we
unleashed upon this fine earth,
consequences will be paid for.
November 20, 2024
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