Breathing, A Tradition Without Words

Breathing, A Tradition Without Words

A Poem by David
"

. eat your face, "life like, but not alive" .

"

innate tendencies. . .

are the residue of creation

predisposed, inside

is everyone of us

made to manufacture

a world

seen through genetic glasses

dissolved over time

into flesh

sometimes vindictive

an idiot

a genius

aged slow

from murderous impulses

consuming flesh

and using bone

what becomes of us

at any price

lovely, perfectionists

those who grew from flesh


properly,

  efficiently

in pursuit of something,


breathing. . .

it's a tradition without words 


like a good virus,

repetitive and without nerve


we eat until there's nothing left

we breath until it's empty

we f**k until we can't

it's not exactly what you would think


but i'm sure it's close

     very close


we are ugly

we are similar

that's our beauty

sometimes painfully

and what survives in the end

comes because we die

before the next

we seed the dirt

(we are lucky) for now

and later. . .

is pure abhorrence, we'll all feel it 

                        the end is close

                        the end is near

we all get to die

over time

we turn to dirt

And I write s****y poems


© 2017 David



Author's Note

David

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Reviews

Feels so real, sweet piece

Posted 8 Months Ago


I read somewhere that clones if raised separately, could turn into quite different people. Not sure if the equation is tilted in favor of genetics or upbringing. Replicating like viruses? Scary!

Posted 8 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

David

8 Months Ago

I know you don't watch TV but you should really watch the new version of Westworld. It's high quali.. read more
DIVYA

8 Months Ago

Sure! I'll take a look.
David

8 Months Ago

You probably won't regret it.

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Added on November 10, 2017
Last Updated on November 10, 2017

Author

David
David

Nassau, New Providence, Bahamas



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