Walk The Line

The smell of burning flesh lingers in the air, an aftertaste with dry cracked lips.

Gritty and hard to chew as you gnaw on your cheek, with a metallic saltiness and kinda sweet.

The taste of blood wetting your mouth like tiny needles as you swallow and gasp to breathe.

There is no breeze, only dryness, and heat, the sky is gray it hasn't rained in weeks.

America, the homeland of the free. That's only a line used to deceive and cheat.

This is a place where the weak and the poor men are thrown to break us down very slowly.

Death and mortality are tortured until you die or reprogram the way you think.

Priests and Priestess rule over humanity, with no remorse, as they cut babies out of mother's wombs.

After their men raped women and children repeatedly with no sedation, the pain echoes in their screams.

The Priestess watches in enjoyment while the Priest picks the prettiest, sweetest teens.

He would softly rub their cheeks as he kissed their hands. That was the last they were ever seen.

Unless the Priest decided the girl was not worthy of being in his kingdom, he had no shame.

Dropping of daughters left with scars and pregnant with their babies.

Scavengers, that's what they say as the pregnant teens begged for food and a drink.

I will never forget the smiles on their faces and the sounds of laughs as they spit in our faces.

There is darkness you have never seen, it exists next door to you at church as you hear God's word. Programmed to do and say and believe what they want you to believe, a matrix.

When you wake up, then you too will see the grim darkness that lives daily.

Walk the line, listen, obey, and help dig your own grave in a tomb called America, the land of the free and the brave.


This poem is about: 
Our world
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