The world is a graveyard of things we once named holy,
Where the pulse of the earth is a drumbeat of "me."
I look at the horizon and see only the hunger,
A tide of gray shadows on a salt-poisoned sea.
I hate the shape of us, the cruel, upright posture,
The mouths that speak peace while the hands sharpen steel.
There is a rot in the marrow of every interaction,
A numbness so deep that we’ve forgotten how to feel.
Humanity just hurts each other for the sport of the sting,
Finding the soft spot to drive in the blade.
We are architects of misery, builders of ruins,
Profiting off the very terrors we’ve made.
There is no love left, only the transaction,
A balance sheet written in selfishness and spite.
We trade in the currency of another man’s weeping,
And call it our triumph, and call it our right.
We walk through the streets like ghosts made of flint,
Striking sparks off each other just to watch the fire grow.
People don’t care for the heartbeat beside them,
Only for the power of the "yes" or the "no."
There is nothing but disrespect in the air that we breathe,
A coldness that settles like ash on the tongue.
No compassion survives in this landscape of ego,
Where the anthem of "I" is the only song sung.
I hate the hollow promise of the "brotherhood" of man,
The way we mask our venom with a thin, plastic grin.
We are a species of predators wearing silk and fine linen,
Hiding the claws that are tucked underneath the skin.
The well has run dry; the milk has turned sour,
And the "soul" is a relic that we’ve traded for stone.
I want no part of the crowd or the clamor
In a world built on hatred, I’d rather be alone.
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