From my second self-published poetry book—Anarcholeptic; a collection of works about protest and change. “To those whose battles shape our world; to those who might still join.”
Poem text.
It’s all becoming dust, the legacy you stuffed your ego with, the just result of having snuffed your life away for lust and glory—hoarding much, enjoying nothing. Dust, of all you made for such a fickle life to trust. You’re only one of us, another corpse to thrust to Hell and not discuss at all again. The dust of someone even lost in greatness, one who must accept the fact and cost that all we do is dust.




Ashes to ashes dust to dust
Oh dust... THIS IS BRILLIANT <3333