Pointless Bullets

i am the scrawler
of unending cliches
that were torn to shreds of wonder
in deepest thoughts of societal remains.

thoughts don’t leave
but in the condensed salt of tears.
man mines sadness
to sprinkle on his slaughtered steer.

not even the water
dares to run clear.

it’s much safer these days
to drink vodka.
or beer.

 

 

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