Counting Sheep
We persist in running again.
Eyes widened by experience, open like wounds.
Heavy jaws of ruminated
Portions.
Hallucinations of wolves and foxes and mean people,
Ripped members and massacres could
Always and never happen. Our lives
Mean nothing while living in
Tastebuds of animals and those who profit
From our meat and coarse hair.
They fade in our mind, hitherto
We persist in running,
To fleetingly feel alive.
Copyright © Nikkia Roberts | Year Posted 2014
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