watch a bomb break the silence,
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of the passive has-beens,
as they come crashing to truth,
the ashes float past their eyelids,
their souls attached to the roof.
watch a bullet spear a sunbeam,
and a child cry in darkness,
vile crooked artists staring,
targeting death harboring fruit
no tree is capable of bearing.
watch a blade glide in tommorow,
a galaxy in twisted helixes,
feeling your self touch god,
and cry at the realization
of the need to be fake
to understand what realness is.