Stock exchange.. (A poem by Jack)

At our most elementary we’re all but a number.. Series of numbers.. Combinations of numbers..

Pluses and minuses, love…

You.. Know they only want you when you’re dead..Your misery, your hurt, your anguish means nothing to them..

How much can you do for them is all that matters..

The right number at the right time..

Of course, they bargained with them who languish in your pain, misery and anguish..

It appears to be a win/win..

For all parties involved.. 

With the exception of you…

You generate big numbers either way…

You die.. Do not fret.. They’ve found a replacement already…

Before your number is up…

At least that’s what my love told me…

She insisted I could be replace with another.. Easy enough..

Try an independent thought for once.. 

They hate it.. Loathe it.. Spit at you.. All types of vitriol for even thinking about disturbing the paradigm..

How dare you?

This is reality… And this is you dying.. You aren’t lucky enough to greet death…

Transformation.. No you will never transform..

You will be what you are..

Forever…

A number….

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