A way out there in left field poem about our human species via my warped mind. |
-Malfeasants- by Keaton Foster Aged Crusted Pseudo rusted Each joint Every bend Squeaks And creaks Then Breakage begins At first The power to move All will to transcend Is taken away Once in place Further and further Advances the truth Of such decay The weight of oneself Is indeed too much Collapsing inward Down upon thyself A pile of weary bones A skeleton dethroned What once stood tall What once was true Reduced Never again erect Never again to be As it was No idle hands Or inclined master Could ever rebuild Such a disaster Flesh becomes a stain Meat loses its taste Putrid and disgraced No one or nothing Will have Anything to do With such change At such a point The mind stays Rigged and sharp As the interiors And exteriors Increasingly fall apart Call it a cruel joke A wasteful display Of our human ways Such thought Self-preservation Now that Is a dangerous intersection And it is always The last to be crossed The last to be wasted Destroyed Toxification has done What was meant As cruel as it may be It is the backbone Of our very being To live it turns out Is to die just like this We are human machines Malfeasants If you please Designed to fail Meant to degrade To waste away Until nothing Of who we are Or could have been Remains… Malfeasants Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2015. |