the whites of my eyes
are gray inside,
dim and dying
like the spirit
of a broken child.
the same eyes,
all knowing and all seeing
perfect eyes,
create human beings
that barely resemble
anything close
to an earth dweller.
ocular devices of flesh
water
and blood,
that see nothing and everything
and can at least see well enough
to know that it all looks the same,
repeatedly.
counter-productive eras;
the advancement of man,
brings forth a simultaneous
demise
of civilization.
leaving behind mild men
and brave women
to dream of a solution
for the indecency.
most people are filthy enough
to despise you for
your dreams.
