e(ver)i
03-31-2008, 07:07 PM
Just a brief preface, this may or may not be a completed version of this, let me know what you think and I'll refine it, or throw it out. It seems random at first, but it is going somewhere. I'm sorry I didn't use any periods, I got into a rhythm writing this, and I really just like it better this way.
Jump to feel nothing, onlt the air surrounding you, nothing to hold you down, to keep you in your place, you can go anywhere, be anything, are all lies told to us as we grow, the world we have created is restricting, it gives you a place and it keeps you there, those who are born poor die poor and hate the rich, the rich will sit in their mansions and pretend the world is a beautiful place, they don't see the boy doomed to live on the streets because he can't pay for school, they don't see the girl forced to sell herself just so she can eat and when she is old and undesirable, they don't see how she fades away and becomes just another nameless, undistinguished face peering out of a cardboard box at the long, black limousines carrying the rich through the streets, the masses of poor, the windows of the limousines are tinted, the occupants do not want to look at the world around them, they want to pretend it doesn't exist, the rich going to parties to sip champagne and dine on fine food while the poor eat the trash even rats wouldn't touch, all they see is their mansions, their smiling wives and their baby, he is autistic, his parents are afraid of him, afraid of how he is different, they blame the surrogate mother, a starving girl they pulled of the streets to implant with a fertilized egg of the rich woman, now they have thrown her back on the streets, baby in hand, and left her without the money they promised her, she looks at the baby, it is crying as she walks away from the dumpster, she couldn't have kept it, she tells herself, she couldn't have fed it, it would have died anyway, and her along with it, it doesn't make her feel any better, she is strong, and only sheds a single tear, for in this world, living on the streets means being strong, for only the strong survive, but those who survive are haunted, haunted by memories of unwanted children crying in dumpsters, of memories of bending over and lifting her skirt for a rich man because she needed to eat, these are the people that have survived, their gaunt, sallow faces watch the long black limousines drive by, and turn back to their burning trash cans, back to a dumpster, searching for something to eat, searching for a box to sleep in, they don't own anything, all they have are the rags on their backs, and food is getting harder to find, while the rich, the chosen ones are ferried through the ranks of the damned to parties, where they will sip champaign, and pretend that the world is a wonderful place, while outside, a man a man roasts what is left of his friends body over the mouth of a burning trash can, the poor are beginning to form tribes now, dividing into sects, as the streets become more and more dangerous as food becomes harder to find people begin to look at one another hungrily, and at the limousines, they managed to stop a limousine today, what is left of the fat men they found inside of it now roasts over the same trash can where a mans friend once roasted, as news of this atrocious event finds it's way back to the rich, their rose-tinted glasses are shattered, they begin to amass weapons, they cannot ignore the streets any longer, they attack one night, slaughtering the damned the so called chosen ones return to their mansions, the damnd's body's litter the streets their are no more lean, desperate faces to watch the limousines cruise by, as the rich return to their parties, they try to pretend that nothing has changed, but one by one, the chosen ones begin to walk the streets, wallowing in guilt for what they did to the damned, they no longer see it as solving a pest problem, they see the faces, and one by one, they do not return to their mansions, they adopt the cardboard boxes of the dead as their new homes, paying a penance for what they have done, until all of the mansions are dark, and the only lights in the city come from the burning trash cans, the dirty orange flames throwing light on pale, haggard faces of the so called chosen ones, now living the life of the damned and trying to forget, they spend their whole lives trying to forget, until the last one dies, and all is forgotten, the city is quiet now, nature returns, trees growing up, pushing sidewalks aside, and reclaiming the ground the humans took from her, so long ago somewhere else in the world a baby in a dumpster cries, and a girl stifles a cry and reminds herself that she needs to eat.
Jump to feel nothing, onlt the air surrounding you, nothing to hold you down, to keep you in your place, you can go anywhere, be anything, are all lies told to us as we grow, the world we have created is restricting, it gives you a place and it keeps you there, those who are born poor die poor and hate the rich, the rich will sit in their mansions and pretend the world is a beautiful place, they don't see the boy doomed to live on the streets because he can't pay for school, they don't see the girl forced to sell herself just so she can eat and when she is old and undesirable, they don't see how she fades away and becomes just another nameless, undistinguished face peering out of a cardboard box at the long, black limousines carrying the rich through the streets, the masses of poor, the windows of the limousines are tinted, the occupants do not want to look at the world around them, they want to pretend it doesn't exist, the rich going to parties to sip champagne and dine on fine food while the poor eat the trash even rats wouldn't touch, all they see is their mansions, their smiling wives and their baby, he is autistic, his parents are afraid of him, afraid of how he is different, they blame the surrogate mother, a starving girl they pulled of the streets to implant with a fertilized egg of the rich woman, now they have thrown her back on the streets, baby in hand, and left her without the money they promised her, she looks at the baby, it is crying as she walks away from the dumpster, she couldn't have kept it, she tells herself, she couldn't have fed it, it would have died anyway, and her along with it, it doesn't make her feel any better, she is strong, and only sheds a single tear, for in this world, living on the streets means being strong, for only the strong survive, but those who survive are haunted, haunted by memories of unwanted children crying in dumpsters, of memories of bending over and lifting her skirt for a rich man because she needed to eat, these are the people that have survived, their gaunt, sallow faces watch the long black limousines drive by, and turn back to their burning trash cans, back to a dumpster, searching for something to eat, searching for a box to sleep in, they don't own anything, all they have are the rags on their backs, and food is getting harder to find, while the rich, the chosen ones are ferried through the ranks of the damned to parties, where they will sip champaign, and pretend that the world is a wonderful place, while outside, a man a man roasts what is left of his friends body over the mouth of a burning trash can, the poor are beginning to form tribes now, dividing into sects, as the streets become more and more dangerous as food becomes harder to find people begin to look at one another hungrily, and at the limousines, they managed to stop a limousine today, what is left of the fat men they found inside of it now roasts over the same trash can where a mans friend once roasted, as news of this atrocious event finds it's way back to the rich, their rose-tinted glasses are shattered, they begin to amass weapons, they cannot ignore the streets any longer, they attack one night, slaughtering the damned the so called chosen ones return to their mansions, the damnd's body's litter the streets their are no more lean, desperate faces to watch the limousines cruise by, as the rich return to their parties, they try to pretend that nothing has changed, but one by one, the chosen ones begin to walk the streets, wallowing in guilt for what they did to the damned, they no longer see it as solving a pest problem, they see the faces, and one by one, they do not return to their mansions, they adopt the cardboard boxes of the dead as their new homes, paying a penance for what they have done, until all of the mansions are dark, and the only lights in the city come from the burning trash cans, the dirty orange flames throwing light on pale, haggard faces of the so called chosen ones, now living the life of the damned and trying to forget, they spend their whole lives trying to forget, until the last one dies, and all is forgotten, the city is quiet now, nature returns, trees growing up, pushing sidewalks aside, and reclaiming the ground the humans took from her, so long ago somewhere else in the world a baby in a dumpster cries, and a girl stifles a cry and reminds herself that she needs to eat.