He had two arms

then four

and when he had six

he had become death, the destroyer of worlds.

Seething hate.

Those dead are so easy,

unhappiness is so common.

The world is dark

those who can see in the dark

see clear.

Misery sustains like love doesn’t,

misery is self sustaining.

And suffering outweighs happiness,

and more children die from neglect than children who dance to the wiggles.

There are more severed limbs than

attached ones

blown off by more mines than mine detectors.

There is less food than mouths,

and more blown up bellies than filled ones.

There are more beaten wives than fulfilled ones,

who have more kids with incest deformities.

There are more wars than UN conferences,

more IEDs than 9/11s,

more gas barrels than

suicide bombers,

more torn skin than

drug addicts

who understand this poem better than I do.

’cause feeding on shallow pleasure

is better than feeding on death.

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