The Dead

We are all equally dead,

Dead inside.

Our organs have been scooped out by society,

and our hearts carved out and replaced with stone by harsh unyielding religions of today,

dead on the inside, yet still appearing to be alive.

They murdered our souls and burned our bones,

filling us in with thoughts not our own.

Our blood are the words they inject into our paper-thin skin,

they kiss us into our  futures with the human blood and flesh hanging from their lips,

they stain us,inside and out,

our scars on display like trophies of war.

Dead on the inside,

they take locks and chains to our brains,

gassing our thoughts, a mental genocide,

harvesting our individuality before we even think ourselves capable of change.

Dead on the inside,while still claiming life,

we cannot mourn our own loss, for we have no mind to do so.

They murdered us without a backward glance,

and thus we lie,

spending our time slowly dying,

believing that we're living,that this is indeed the life everyone would die for.

but we are all already dead, so what is there to live for?

The End

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