Edwin Cordero


Pure Survival


There's always a wall.
We waver through the call —
No way to escape this place
At all.
Our masses stand tall
As they end up buckled.
Who wants to win the game?

Shuffle.

Hand in hand at malls,
Love shows it's dismal.
Who's first to lose a glance?
The balls
We have till dawn
Hide our lovely chaos,
Because they're beautiful

Freedom.

Their orders far fall,
The dresses come back on,
And we're left to die
Lost,
For what was thought
As remedial
Turned out to be futile,

Insatiable.

Submitted: Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, December 25, 2013

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