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Extinction's the Smell, of us Doing Well

A web of shame,
A spiders game.
How do we justify?
Try some more,
Esprit de corps.
Suppress the hue and cry.

☜(゚ヮ゚☜) ☜(⌒▽⌒)☞ (☞゚ヮ゚)☞

The human mind is an awful thing,
In it's selfish dysfunctional glory.
For all it's sophisticated look,
The bottom line tends to be gory.

Left to it's own devices,
You can guarantee terrible facts.
Fighting all for what's MINE!
Excuse's the vilest acts.

In fact our only light,
At the end of that awful tunnel.
Is the fact that we manage to imagine,
Something better to pour down that funnel.

But our bottle's near full of our ordure,
So little room left for the good.
So when you shake it up right well,
What's seen is what's left of *manhood.

Now poor mother Earth has shrugged,
And started to scratch that itch.
We're seeing our lack of worth,
With nothing to make a pitch.

Guilty, guilty, guilty!
The planets angry roar!
While from the dock we look shifty,
Both hands dripping with gore.

But that's anthropomorphic behaviour,
Evolution don't give a monkey's.
It's only our own legacy,
That we're all reduced to junkies.

What happens when we can't score,
Our favourite hit from our lover.
Maybe by then we're no more,
And the planet can then recover.

[*manhood = toxic male attitudes]​


Beautiful. Poem's like these always show that someone has felt the shame of the scorpion which is the first step to the scorpion's fire. That being self-sacrifice in the name of love.

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