There will come a day
we will simply be tired of winning...
Like lifeless bodies washing up on shore,
gorged with the watery dilution of communal expression-
Nothing solid left to evacuate.
Kneecaps flattened into smooth plates
carrying the heavy burden
of failed ideologies and nervous diarrhea.
Palms worn down- paper thin,
transparent and warm to the touch.
The flies keep me awake-
crawling to and fro
at the top of every hour.
Toilet to desk-
The hero's journey.
Until this day comes,
We must stay vigilant
Hold fast hope
and keep holes warm
for our grand Exit.
.png?ixlib=js-3.8.0&auto=format&quality=50&dpr=2&fit=max&cs=origin&s=c14af04124eae40ea728afc896968b93)
