He had two arms
and when he had six
he had become death, the destroyer of worlds.
Those dead are so easy,
unhappiness is so common.
The world is dark
those who can see in the dark
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
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
more torn skin than
who understand this poem better than I do.
’cause feeding on shallow pleasure
is better than feeding on death.