A Mad Lot

The world is mad
The lot of us are fools
At best, a few are shitty saints

Silence reigns
when words should be expressed
and worse:
the noise when mouths should shut

We scurry, furious on futile paths, indignant in our rage
we shake our fists at our perceived injurious wounds
denouncing ghost and smoke

Fools of false divinity, we’re rebels all –
The lot of us are mad

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