Factory

F

Here is a factory at work
To the left, the sober ones
Who know that there are two realities
That if you do not sink here
You must sink somewhere else
And we all die eventually after all.

And here, the junk-heads,
Who know one thing;
The sound of fire crackling
In a spoon of tar
Is euphoria.
And you can find it
No where else.

About the author

KayleeB
KayleeB

Newly 18. I write heavily of addiction and sorrows. Iā€™m a bit of a nilihist finding beauty.

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