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Tonight we lament for the unfed bureaucrats,
Who lie in sealed plastic bags,
Ravenous, as they play hop-scotch.
Tonight we bleed for the mothers.
Whose water breaks for the children
Who will not drink the holy sap.
Tonight we are alone for the ones not cherished.
Like the jewelry box in the attic,
Playing that old song we used to grow deaf to.
Tonight we sleep for the nightmares.
The ones that wake moss off our graves
And seed over the sterile dust.
Tonight we hope for the lost.
Thrown out like last months milk,
While mama's purse is a sandbox.
Tonight we ask ourselves who we want to be.
Our enemies now our icons
And our lives now listed on the web.
Tonight I die for the murders from democratic gods.
For the murders of a wrathful nation.
For the lives of an unhatched chimera.
For the condemned trees that held our names.
For me.
For you.
For them.
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