Industrialized Harmony

Dreamful death driven down your throat with a glass of water.

Hazy gray eyes in the plasma.

All they are is lips and suntans.

A package with no contents.

A Machine.

Hardwired straight into pivot chairs.

Built to spew nonsense, mundane, the nothing.

Label it real, made in america. Marketing techniques.

Made to regurgitate misery and scream out sadness.

-

Panoramic view of billions of faces.

Like a giant opera house, sitting towards an empty stage.

Watch the life leave you,

like taking that first breath outside on a chilled day.

Visible, except with every breath it continues.

None of them look cold,

but they all look empty.

-

Live like packrats.

Searching the rubble for the strange,

different, colorful.

Equal portions for everyone else,

but this is mine to piss on.

Like the parasite we are,

we must feed and devour our host.

Leave an empty crust for nothing to start again.

Embrace fury like it is whiskey on tap.

Suck the marrow from the bone.

Be the bloated wolf after a kill.

As long as we live in motion,

we will forget.

As long as we build,

we feel good about ourselves.

Utopias prodded and changed.

Will mutated and formed through the great wax mold.

Built it through machines you create to destroy. 

Sell the outdated to the small, call them a threat.

Destroy the small.

Militaristic, Machinistic, 

Industrialized Harmony.

The End

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