Ten cents per slave, a fair enough price!
Why should the worth of your life,
so inflated by pride and indoctrination,
why should your breaths amount
to a sum greater than required
to kill you?

Ten cents to fold a blade from scrap.
Ten cents to manufacture a projectile,
though it may be easier to introduce
with a cannon of greater cost,
despite the ease of folding metal
to kill you.

Flesh oppose flesh, your value is time.
Ten seconds to die; your heart suppressed
by a hand moved quickly 'gainst
to kill you.

She was crying at you!
Christ separate, at you!
We all heard the muffled tears
insulated by the tin and refuse,
she cried. She died,
to kill you.

Mommy, it's cold. 


  1. Badass poem dude (if there can be such a thing). Is that OC?

  2. Everything I post was written by myself :)

  3. Hold me mommy. *screenfade* "CUT!"

  4. parefecto! followin duder. I really like your original poetry :D, keep it up. *thumbs up*

  5. Very compelling to read. Makes you want to get to the next line. Keep up the good work.