"Microcosms Repeat"

The horror of a war we cannot see

it slowly reaches the surface

as we sit in our offices

our schools

our churches

our cities

our houses

our slaughterhouses

our microcosms

of a war we cannot see.

A sick, sinking feeling approaches

before the drums of battle begin to beat

rat-tat-tat-tat-tat, rat-tat-tat-tat-tat

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.

A witness.

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

a killshot

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

the macrocosm.

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.