The best in line for the slaughter are those who don’t participate. Those with health insurance are prime candidates for eternal life.
The man with no family will one day be hailed as a hero.
The actor with no headshots, the farmer with no shovel, the head without a brain just might one day become president.
We cant stop the invasion of bug eyed mutants who thin their peevish poindextorous ways are funny or innovative. Best we can do is pray for a large asteroid or title wave or earthquake or some thing. Anything.
Anything that keeps us from turning our trollish selves into name tag jockeys and 8 hour a day mindless bottomfeeding shell dwellers.
I hope our death is an exciting one.
I know it will be.
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Comments about this poem (Where to? by matt fromm )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
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