Fiction This

A work of art works because it is true, not because it is real.


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Injustice League

I can’t fight all the injustice in the world

I sit here screaming into a pillow

With a thousand tears spilled

How can there be people who want to rape   a six week old girl

Front page news

It makes me ill

A part of my soul was killed

What sickness spreads through the masses?

Like a paralysing fog

It turns us all into passive fascists

Or rabies infested dogs

Doom hangs around us like a bog

 

I never want to leave my room

I can’t not feel all the pain

I give and I give

But there’s no gain

When things take a wrong turn

I am underneath it all

And I burn in hell

I can’t fight the feeling

Or the fear anymore

 

What are we doing?

Why are we here?

It’s ugly and messy

And full to the brim with tears

And screams

I thought we arrived to go forth and chase our dreams

But it isn’t all sunshine and smiles

In fact, come to think of it

 I haven’t seen any of that

for miles

It’s a desert, a grave yard, a place where you are forced to watch your dreams wither and die

A dark joke, where you don’t want to understand the punch line

A sucker punch to the gut when you least expect it

Breathe your first breath and you’ll grow to regret it

It’s one question

Over and over

A strangled suggestion

We keep guessing

Why

WHY

Why

Is it too late for us to all give it another try?

I’d rather say goodbye

Then fight a fixed war

Scream into a pillow

My heart is grated and raw