fall into this earth,
fire in our stems
confusion in our steps, poised to the destruction of ourself
in this
vision of and from us, nobody will leaf
even with
the vein of our body, scales of our skins
I do not leaf, neither eat the sun, nor feel the wind
bud with
wickedness, psychopathy, schizophrenia and paranoia
which whistle about here, but our fruit is in the future
totally blind to, isn’t that a stupid obsession, name another
branched
with responsibilities capabilities and the need to be the bother
Barking we strip
the sparsely dressed thieves naked for stealing clothes
gathered
among are the weak and hopeless making chants of war
the ears
get used to it for now,
budding
up, soft cotton dressed the hardened criminals who like us
make
good on our promises, that we are as crazy as we brag
and shoot guns up in the air, impatient for now,
jump up
and catch own own bullet in our stems of stem
even when
we rot, we still do not leaf.
BY VICTOR samuel
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