The horror of a war we cannot see
it slowly reaches the surface
as we sit in our offices
of a war we cannot see.
A sick, sinking feeling approaches
before the drums of battle begin to beat
and the horror of death
it slowly reaches the surface
as we go about are normal lives
medicated by an alternative truth
that we are safe in our slaughterhouses
not understanding what they're microcosms of.
As the show is about to start
The media prepares to feast on the corpses
of the crisis actors
here's a brief public announcement.
The safety you knew is gone.
Machine gun fire goes off
drowning out the screams in the deafening noise
the hellish microcosm peels off the mask
and reveals the monster underneath.
Weak men reveal themselves as predators
and mow citizens down like soldiers in a row
history repeats itself
like the bullets spit out
from the automatic rifles the weak men carry
that find themselves a microcosm
in the guts of the soldiers.
As the soldiers trample over each other in the burning fields
the medications run out
and plans for battling ordinary life
meet the enemy faction in the fields, the monster underneath
there is only one truth left to swallow
there is no way out
and no help will bring back the safety they knew
to the macrocosm
if they manage to survive
the womb of its bastard child.
Some will be stillborn
Some will die in the womb
Some will play dead to attempt rebirth
Some will abort themselves
But they are not cowards.
Death is inevitable,
why not die in the womb
of their own accord?
Being pro-death is good in a macrocosm full of toxic air.
Friends, family, colleagues' corpses lie on the ground
in pools of blood and gore
the air reeks of gunpowder
A ringing in the ears becomes a blackening white noise
as the weak men
beat the drums with their sticks
and the horrible sound of the war we cannot see
floods the microcosm.
Friends, family, and colleagues hide under tables and behind desks
locking doors, turning out lights in vain
stifling screams to avoid being heard out of desperation
before they meet their bullets
shake hands with the Grim Reaper while he puts his scythe to their throats
and they are eaten alive by the womb.
A false witness
a licensed owner
a tragic heroin a tragedy
a microcosm within another
grabs his gun from his hip
the protagonist, a foil to the weak men
and begins battle with the enemy
a duel to be televised to the masses
and the macrocosm finally puts its mask back on
but the children who escaped the womb of its bastard child
have more horrors that await them
as they become actors
cast unwillingly into roles for a larger crisis
In the macrocosm, the false witness
the tragic heroin the tragedy with a gun
takes off their mask
and reveals the monster lying underneath.
The tragic heroin's a medication
a truth the masses of a faction in the cold war
the red gun-toting racist, misogynist Nazis
are told to swallow
by their psychopathic generals
while the generals of the other faction
the blue sheeple snowflake socialists and libtards
try to put the mask back on the macrocosm
pretending the safety their masses knew is back again
once the show is over
and no longer deemed profitable.
The actors are bullied and harassed by the conservative reds
to add to the already endless macrocosms of trauma in their heads.
Were the weak men made weak because the soldiers were bullies?
Does it even fucking matter?
the weak men were the enemy faction
and the lie of good versus evil
is a mere theme for superheroin movies.
The actors who were actual bullies against minorities in the past
are bullied and harassed by the partisan liberal blues
gaslighting at its finest
they don't really care about the macrocosm.
None of the generals do!
They know their temporary solutions will never pass
as they preach "moderation" among the generals in office
and hype up the soldiers of the factions to kill each other off in the media
It doesn't fucking matter!
The soldiers of the microcosm are survivors
and they will live with their scars, physical and mental
until, like their fallen brothers
they exit the macrocosm
whether they abort their mission to survive out of grief or trauma
or somehow carry on in spite of the adversity
and finally meet the cold steel kiss of the Reaper's scythe
as the microcosms repeat
until this hollow macrocosm
here on this blue oasis
collapses in its entirety.