The age of dichotomy

Warcheifs thrum their fingers, rhythmically vibrating atomically waves -skin against oak


as if to enlighten brainstorming sessions on discussions on who to bomb next

Which mother will spill saline, spittle, snot and blood in screams for her calcium covered babes spattered in red over ghostlike grey concrete clouds

-darum – tap – darum – tap

Blonde assassins sigh unable to comprehend instructions from a master puppeteer

jump and jerk to taste of ashes in their mouths; 

scratching their scalp like lackwhits

-darum – tap – darum – tap

Under neon strip lights a babe cried her last

lost, alone, pink and perfect, her small fingers grasp with her final breath
-darum – tap – darum – tap
They look on, and judge on their egotistical thrones, small smiles on their wormy lips as their pockets fill with the profits of pain.

-darum – tap – darum – tap

Put me out of my misery people!

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