Nothing Comforts Like Your Own Validity

&
Nothing destroys like silence.
when everything written,
all things collectively accounted,
dismissed and value relinquished,
enslaved by judgement
and
force fed by sinister eyes,
as they shovel the sloth
from hand to mouth.
as the savages reek havoc,
validity ensues,
the score of man
will be settled
3 - love.
tension mounts,
as the weak minded,
are sucked into the whirlpool of falsehood.
he will stand alone,
overlooking life,
forged by enduring the
hate
that is washed down from the gods
to separate
the deviants
drunks
and undesirables,
into neat little stacks,
of clay.
clay men fighting molten wars,
and
plastic women
indecisive in action,
with smiles molded
into their blank faces,
as their pupils dilate,
and recede into contempt
for anyone muttering words
about existence
that isn't their own.
time will run,
according
to those who make the rules,
and everyone will wallow,
through shit,
with heads slumped on chest,
and bullet wounds
will be a welcomed pain,
back to reality.
we'll be reduced back to grunts
and eventually
silence
will cover all of us
in that
long black veil.