Humans and their little affairs, their little lives, their little cares,
their tiny obstacles, their massive woes,
their tragic backstories, and triumphant blows
their little saviors, their tiny flavors, their irrelevant airs;
their minuscule obsessions, their inevitable connections, and eccentric flairs-
they scatter and instigate because lying is all they’ve ever known
but it won’t stop the mucus drying inside passages of their nose
it won’t stop their empires from ceasing while the wind rattles ancestral bones
they cry and mitigate by imagining blunt edges on rights versus wrongs
they worship pointless escapades, their little expenditures, and tyrannical songs
and none will stop them from killing each other for a mere dollar more on their scrolls
their disgusting predilections and trigger happy souls
are merely forgettable inconveniences toward the pull of the nearest black hole
which is why I wish this tribe wasn’t the one to which I owe a soul…
let me go… home

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