bottles and needles

. . . peace by blades

we’ve gotten so sick that we drink happiness
and swallow sleep out of bottles
crave love at home and find solitude in crowds
inject bliss from needles and find peace by the blades
live behind masks and hide naked in the open.
millions starve to death all around us, every second
& we still don’t stop wasting food over stones & the dead.
thirteen-year-olds want to kill themselves
and centenarians want to live still, even if its outta bottles.
we seek life everywhere but ourselves..
sick. So sick that we even invite death out of bottles too.
maybe its time we realized, we still hold the cure.
that to our sickness, we are the cure.
we need only be kind, for that’s all that matters
and be bold enough to use words that heal us.
and when the bottles of poison be replaced by those of ink,
to deal with depression, to be relieved of the pain;
when only papers be guilty of cuts and not blades,
to make the needles help life and that only,
when hunger dies and not people off it,
and religion teaches life, not prejudice,
of all,when love, peace and compassion are more than vocabulary
maybe then, we can call us, human again. maybe.


3 thoughts on “bottles and needles

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