Culture Vulture

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Culture Vulture

by Dillon Collins

I feel like I'm drowning in our fragil sub-cultures as the vultures are staring, the flesh that they're tearing? From the minds of those who can't see the signs. Signs of poison and frailty, the voices assail me.

It's all a facade created as a god, it's empty and hallow, yet it still gets the nod. You are all not destined to be, subservient carbon copies of one such as me. I hate this sameness and political strangeness.

I'm going to snap, I don't know when or where. But I assure you, when I do, it won't be pretty, (stay out of my hair). A ticking time bomb of anger, seething inside. This radiation is falling out when I run out of pride.

Why!? I scream, as in my mind I dream, of times that were better. When me and my friends would chill through the weather. These mental war games, I can't take it. I'm losing my mind. The enemy is advancing and I'm not responding in kind.

If you look now, you've found me, face down on the floor, sweating by pounds, I locked the door. Fighting anger with a rage so profound it's sure to resound. Death-gripping the carpet, nashing my teeth. Is this the way out? I pray I regain my feet.

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