Those Little Men


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You make the moon
As you should
And I make the stars
As I should

In doing so
We behold the same night
With our backs on the same grass

Look at those little men
Arguing in a rapid brawl
As foxes upon juicy skulls
Over existence, of two moons
And a night, devoid of stars

You be the baked bread
And I, a plump fish
Do we fear, being sliced
Do we fear, being toasted

In being so
We behold the same destination
With our backs, on the same table

Look at those little men
Burning their souls
To feel their flesh warm
Frozen by fears
Refusing, to be sliced
Each crushed by the stone
They tried to carry
Alone
In desires to make a palace

image: paintemail.wordpress.com

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