Walk these crowded streets
but feel like there is no one truly here.
Just a flow of blurring human shapes
and me, walking between.
There is no connection.
This collective
just a hive mind of automatons
Following the same routine,
never stepping out
of their comfort zones,
never searching for unfilled dreams.
Like a conveyor belt society,
all led by moving walkways
to feed the greed machine,
but some of us missed the tracks,
or skipped off a while back.
We stroll amongst the high stacks
of bodies left broken and cracked.
Pistons keep turning,
machine drums down,
it sounds like
machine gun rounds.
A scream
as a body gives in.
Torn to bits,
worn down,
it falls into the abyss,
the deep acid pits.
Swinging guillotine blades,
pendulum rocking back and forth,
as the conveyor belt
drops more people off.
Spinning gears twist
the human sized blender.
It screeches and hisses,
like a drill through screaming stones,
grinding bones and sinew
into health shakes,
the screams don't have time to escape.
The machine always hungry for more
lets out an almighty roar,
as it demands to be filed to the brim.
The people keep on coming.
The scent of death permeates
this maze of conveyor belts,
impossible to navigate.
As the slurry of a million souls
flows through bloodstained pipes,
to the bottling centre,
to be sold for too high a price.
Thanks for reading
Please take a look at my new collection "Torn Pages"
100+ all new poems not shared here before.
https://tinyurl.com/KCtornpages
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