Awakened
Life has become a biter fruit.
War, pestilence, disease is its playground.
The minds of youth, being poisoned by their own mothers.
Jackals feed their young with supplements.
Children are fed poison.
We hide behind the skirts of nuns.
They turn on you with their sticks.
The corner has become my sanctuary.
Hands cupping my face, while the medicine poisons me.
Suffocating in my own dreams, lost in hell,
or what's perceived of it.
Waking to the same nightmare.
Delusion has become my friend,
Left alone to my own devices, death comforts me.
Copyright © George Maris | Year Posted 2015
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