with a short sentence
to die.
My breathing is already laboring
and only God knows
why.
We are the last of the tribes
to roam
this earth
and that parking lot
over there
is the size of our turf.
Sadly it's the air
in which
we breathe
that is slowly determining
how humanity
will leave.
My father never wanted
to see
my face
as I am now the poster child
for the dying
human race.
My mother's love was unconditional
but she must also
take the blame
for giving
this poor child
a Christian name.
My parents were siblings
from the same
bloodline
before the mind
was savagely raped
by a certain warning sign.
Madness
had engulfed
the family way
for those
who have ignored
the Judgement day.
They say the end is near
for the few
who wait
and God's last born
will meet
his fate.
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