The Dark Graveyard.

I see dead people.Men walking into offices to sit in coffins. People handed death certificates disguised as a salaries. My peers working 9-5s and earning nowhere near enough to survive.It’s far from ironic that my friend told me that these days,nights after work she sleeps like a corpse.
Sometimes it feels like my city is a graveyard.Sometimes I feel like the ghost whisperer.Sometimes I feel I’m just watching re-runs of the Michael Jackson Thriller video and everybody dancing and singing like they are alive.But it doesn’t take a genius to see that they are rotting on the inside.It’s easy to say they gave up on life, but if just a victim of a system that’s pulling the trigger.

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Is it still suicide? So early in our lives were forced into uniforms which strip us of our identity. Stand in firing lines outside classrooms designed to kill everything unique about us.They did say that good die young:Abraham is only man I ever knew who was willing to stand at the altar and sacrifice his happiness for someone else and even he hesitated even God agreed that it wasn’t worth it.

Let me ask you a question.Have you ever played spot the difference between living and existing? What does unhappiness taste like? And do you try brush it out your mouth every night before you go to sleep? and every morning before u head out Monday to Friday?
And does it leave a bitter taste in your mouth on Sunday evenings? Sometimes making that bread is a recipe for disaster. When was the last time you fed your soul? And didn’t your parents teach you to always finish your plate?

I think we all know that slavery is still alive, and we are just concealing it because maybe it’s easier to admit to defeat. The truth is that we are afraid to admit to ourselves and so instead we carry on digging our own graves, waiting for promotions we don’t really want, to hang around necks like medals. But instead they hang around our necks like nooses attached to glass ceilings.But most don’t even have the courage to jump so instead remain on an office chair.In purgatory not living or dying, just surviving. Just surviving,just getting-buying.
I sit at the edge of this cemetery using my words like flowers to mourn the ones we have lost. But sometimes I feel like flowers aren’t enough or is it that there are just too many graves?

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