Global Suicide

Humanity is like a virus on mother earth. Moving from one area to the next, stripping it of resources, until we find a new place to infest, Mother Earth struggles with this cancer. We suffer together.

Slather my cadaver with a sour flower of a grey matter, so I can travel these gravel trails until I’m frail as the rusty railroads, rest in death’s sailboat, capsized on the sunrise, setting into Armageddon’s forgetfulness, invisible prison of the afterlife, spite devised in the retina

Betraying yesterday’s trachea

 

The broken stem of a ballpoint pen’s invasion strikes the Canadian pavement paradise with poetry radiant audacious oasis wordplay spray paint graffiti on the white page of the city, the walking saviours stalk prayer pews like unrooted yew trees, the leaves convoluted dreams bear beauty from fairy-tale like pleas of humanity’s ovaries on the apothecary genes that synthesize on the sky scraped, sun-draped, scab of plastic bags and movie adds, blood raped, the horizon is crimson-grey smog combined with online captains logs for the ships capsized gone under the surface of prosperity and into the dirt

Purpose is a misty missing clarity’s charity carrying the scent of smoke from the spokes and cogs in the cognition of the omniscient machine emissions glistening in the airways, a warm sort of cough or cancer, a festering question in the lungs of the old ones, unanswered, the earth wonders why she sits in her own waste

One winged angels do not cry fragile lies, concubine bloodlines of our mother remain star stricken with sicknesses fruition, digitize the world around us into submission, blind god’s vision in an online prison and say you’re saving yourself by killing your earth

God is a computer program, god is a videogame, god is a graphics chip in a picture frame

God doesn’t breathe so he doesn’t drown in the diseased heat of society's heartbeat

Acclimatized are the divines, the thermostat rises under the stubborn oven under the slumbering sun, if you like green in your pocket, and grey in your lungs, bread in your wallet, dipped in the grunge, someday it’s going to be toast, the green will roast like tea leaves in the overflow of waters pour at the bottom of the ocean, hope is a profit unlike hot chocolate, afloat in a leaky boat

We are so miserably mistaken as the earth’s shaken, leaving every effort to the last second, procrastination on the other end of island nations, stop f*****g up creation

Oblivion submission collision with unlivable conditions

Canadian credence pieces grievances back together again

Walks and stalks saviour prayer uvula fusing the protrusion of the ice caps rapture allusion

Wavelength gradient sunbaked stadium

Emulates exaggerates consolidates paradise

Cadence coagulations dominated regulated stimulation orchestrates stagnant romance inauguration racism castrates prevalence evidence malevolence medicine dimension predestined

Premonition existence Menstruated rhetoric confederate flatulent immaculate debacles like a pterodactyl  

Predicates predators of Republican senators  

Illuminate ominous nominated concentrating contemplation a nation choked trachea

Off the lips of the esophagus apocalypse cavernous cataclysmic Armageddon

Full of s**t metamorphosis out the orifice emotionless

Emptiness

Eclipse synthesis discrimination infancy insignificant insulin prince infinite there are no winners when the world’s cinders

Reconciliation rendition edition

Relinquish essence resilience

Inhibition reminiscent extinguish extinction distinguish distillery reminiscent as the future is neutered, and grimaces

Author's Note

I very seldom reply to reviews, but I promise I read EVERY single one. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be ecstatic to have the chance to hear what you have to say. Whenever you write something about my poems, or the themes of my poems, or criticize me it is not in vain. I will listen, learn and be thankful.

Reviews

[gram linski]

You're metre and rhythm are like the pounding of a train reminds me of Kerouac, and some of the imagery is insane, enjoyed immensely, check out Mexico city blues, by the man,

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Mexico city blues eh? I'll check that out. I'm happy to be compared to such a great writer. With all respect, thank you.

[gram linski]

Feel free to check me out too,

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

For sure, I'd love to.

[Onlyme]

I could actually picture someone narrating this over a documentary type programme reading this with a sombre serious voice. Making the power of the viewing and words. Really impact the watcher.

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Thanks Dawn, that's an interesting perspective. And I'm happy you enjoyed the poem. Honestly, I love writing and reading, but sharing poems is something that completes it in my opinion. It's nice to review a friend's writing, or read a review of your own. I'll do my best to write the best poems I can, and top the last ones too. If you ever want a review on your poems, just let me know, and if I'm not urgently busy I'd love to read them.