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When the past is past

“If you bump into someone you haven’t seen in seven years, every cell has been replaced and they’re someone new entirely. You don’t have to say hi.” – @shutupmikeginn

I just realised that it has been a little over seven years since I’ve seen my classmates from Primary School. And that’s an incredibly uncomfortable thought. I mean, it was a completely predictable future, considering I wasn’t “friends” with any of them, it’s just that they all live so close to me. Or, at the very least go to school in my general area, so, why haven’t I seen any of them?

How can one live so incredibly close to their past but never truly touch it?

Nakedstreetkid out x

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Poetry

When God happens

When God happens we are left with a myriad of excuses escaping mouths without mourning. People grieving for their loved ones hidden under lands covered in sand and sweat. Soldiers running from point A to B without remembering that their actions amount to very little, but the construction of loathing within a new generations mind. New excuses are made. Filled with the hatred of the young, fueled by the hatred of the old. Fear is so easily mistaken for bravery.

New soldiers arrive. Eager to destroy others without the true realisation they are killing people. Not just the men that the bullets that are used to tear through the flesh but the children of these men. The wives and mothers of these men. The friends of these men. When they kill one, they kill many.

They kill so many.