Wednesday, April 6, 2022

Quickie Poem Thingy

The fake pandemic was never a threat.  The paradigm was.
Will there be repercussions?  You bet.
The virulent contagion is in the fake inoculation.
By their own hand, millions will die.  We breathe.  We wait.  We practice compassion.
If this era had a name, it would be Gullible' s Travels.
I hold the line while the bullshit unravels.
Millions of collapsed psyches.  Millions of burst bubbles.
This time next year...I look forward to searching through the rubble.

Ani Mad Shaman Avedissian April 2022