forgotten passages through mines ofsteal, workin with there existance as the fraility of our human kind spits at anything other than us. torchard children in beds of flowers float around my head. images of naked toungues rapped around wire fames of infancy. the future holds our diamonds we bought when time existed. our own existance is questioned by men in suits, with peices of paper that mean everything. nothing is trying so hard to be something in a world of everything. we smile upon those who expose what isnt supposed to be exposed, we accept disgust in the eyes of the young, for our whole lives have been nothing but a joke, and we have never even glanced at what we thought was right, what we spit on the only thing that has always been our escape.
"our own existance is questioned by men in suits, with peices of paper that mean everything. nothing is trying so hard to be something in a world of everything." keep them coming...i loved this rant, and the flow was great. you have a voice for free verse, me thinks.
