Sunday, 13 October 2013


Life, it's thrust upon you,
Never did you ask for it
You are thrown out into light and sound
To fend for yourself in alien ground.

Short is the comfort of the mothers arms
Long will the torture of the glaring crowd
Never to know the silent peace of the womb again.
The warmth has been substituted for the cold.

In life you struggle more and more
For selfish whores abound galore
The privileged few you want to gore
Till the comfort of deaths inevitable sleep

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