If you’re still bleeding you’re the lucky one
Cos most of us are sleeping six feet underground
Eyes wide shut, stories--untold, hymns--unsung
Forever silenced by the mound,
Growing heavy with each setting sun.
If you’re still feeling you’re the lucky one
Cos most of us are aimlessly walking, hardened by someone
Nameless faces, ripped pages in decapitated frowns
Hearts, feelings mangled beyond recognition
No longer living and reduced to a sorry state of simply existing.
If you’re still weeping you’re the lucky one
Cos most of us are bereft of any hope, sucked bone-dry of faith
As that elusive silver lining continues to drown in unforgiving skies
Anhenodic, we nurture old wounds and lick them anew
Each day repeating itself, in this beguiling loop.
Every morsel of emotion is our signal fire
That life has not left us, but merely bitching ire
So if you’re still gasping through polluted lungs
In a world riddled with corruption and moral unrest
Worry not, it’s just a silly test.
*short poetry from a sleep-deprived graboid.