Crossing Over

5 minutes late was a far away plague,

Like the Black Death,

The freedom of never worrying of losing it all was like albatross wings.

But the transition to a realm of strict rules, a grasp of interest, a contract of forever.

Animals push and pull, but their mouths contain a bit with reigns reaching into the abyss above, slaves to the day.

As I spend my sweat to wriggle free, the question of choice is present.

Why? This was a choice. 

Their eyes are dead because their souls fetched a discount price. 


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