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Let them have it; it's theirs

 Beauty goes out of the world and it's only the beating of flesh that fills the air. It's only the moaning of some whore made good by the bank balance of a richer man. Let them bang on at it. Let the flesh smells rot the air. As for this withering part of the tree, As for me:  I will enjoy the last rays of the sun.  People are such a disappointment.
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The sharks begin to circle

 ***
I come
They stall. 
They might think
I never finished university 
 Since I  never did what they expected
I never sold my soul to the machine
And never sought guidance from it. 

The photo below was stolen from a young graduate. 
She studies photography and I thought it looked cool
Like a young French girl before the Germans invaded. 
It's actually a girl from Cape Town who knows nothing
But expects guidance the world from above. 

Like a star.
Merry Christmas to you all. 
Rats. Pigs. Vermin.
Greetings from below
We know what's really 
going on. You are not it.


 

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