All that I write just drives me insane, my need to re-write it again and again. Problems occur if it refuses to rhyme, no matter how it is written time after time. Into the abyss my words constantly fall, I gather them together to rearrange them all. Obsession compulsion I live on the border, until all of my words are neat and in order.
They opened up a can of worms, flooding the world with fucking germs. Biological warfare on innocent races, by sinister figures who hide their faces. How long before there is a realization, that there is no such thing as civilisation. People are the virus that infect all others, killing our sisters, mothers and brothers. What next for us from this Pandora's box? A shortened lifespan from an engineered pox.
We will never know the truth of so may lies, we will never know why the little one cries. We now live in a world where nothing is real, our lives are dictated by what people can steal. The past looks so simple innocent and free, even that is a lie if it only applies to you and to me. The hunger in children is a truth we ignore, we choose to believe others even when we are sure. Easy to submit to the lie as to question means pain, so the cycle continues again and again. They change all the words to hide what they mean, to confuse and befuddle so nothing is seen. Time to wake up and banish those voices, that seek to leave us without any choices.