The Dark Side of the Moon
If there was ever a God, I am not impressed by His creation.
The Dark Side of the Moon
by Rachel
I have an inexpressible hunger
of the soul.
The world is void of meaning—
tedious,
sometimes loathsome—
yet every morning
we must dress ourselves
and pretend astonishment.
How amazing it all is.
Over and over
we perform the same small tasks,
selling the hours of our lives
to pay the slave master
for permission to continue.
If there was ever a God,
I am not impressed
by His creation.
He is a failure.
And let us not forget
His most beloved work:
Man.
The great suppressor.
The devourer.
The creature who builds a cage
and calls it civilisation.
They roam the earth
like hungry ghosts—
appetites without end,
mouths that cannot be filled.
They would steal
from their own stomachs
and wonder why
they remain hungry.
An abomination.
So take me
to the dark side of the moon,
to the country
where the sun does not shine,
where nothing asks me
to smile,
to labour,
to praise the machinery
that consumes us.
Take me
to the dark side of the moon,
where I may lay down
the burden of becoming,
and enter at last
that sleep without dreams—
without hunger,
without repetition,
without the terrible performance
of being alive.
How is your day going?
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