The Human Syndrome Poem by Shatalov Roman

Violence abused my past, I chose to glance, look back and see what truths have passed, left dying in the hours as they skewed my grasp on what these nooses grab what these vultures peck from my flesh and as I disect my respect to see who new in that I find no one really cares about who's who, its sad, looking for money, for insanity and ruthless acts, finding grumbling old abusive hacks that think life is intruding camps and bruising caps punches and kicks lead to gunplay with kids, some say its sick, while other just choose to laugh, see the world crumbling under blue kids flags, or drowning in the blood from necks of those who we bash complaining of corruption in the goverment when corruption gave them power. Who did that? Cast the ballet, placing there votes in idiots expecting not to get screwed with that the rich fighting the poor, the sick fighting for more of something that they shouldnt have to pursue, should have, the dead piling up while we just point to the blue in maps, looking for somewhere new to stack the what we dont want, everything crude, the trash, the old are forgotten while the new attack every attempt to relieve this truth we have, end this truce we have with the powers that break our world, made our pearl into something we all hate. We all made this planet into this ball of ****, paradise in space, and yet sitting here can we really call it this? Can we say with our godly image we made all this sick with our 'accomplishments'? Poisoning our land, our sea, our lives the air we breath, turning all we see into cities that scape our sky to dust, more metal in our scenery then if we made our eyes from rust...