Words cannot come out of my mouth

The strong specimen survives while decimating the others

If what you do can change me, I will take it till I can.

The soil is stiff today, it has red marks spilt on it. The blood that dried, will it be replaced by my blood filling the earth today or Will it? Will I run again? It is a fight with the self we all play the necromantic game, if at all powers of that sort could stop the demons, witches, and haphazard fits alike. They did the same with Ron, he has autism, but he can blabber to bore them out. Is that what survival of the fittest is? If it is then who survives in a world of vile disgust, allowing mauling, killing, denigrating, duplicating and tearing a new one from your existing self? All hell cut loose when things boil like a volcano inside you having streaming molten lava inside, willing to burst its upper cover open and flow and char the so-called fits of today!

I am cosmic,

How can I be human?

If at all I am, then I have to fall in line.

As Darwin’s theory postulates only the fittest survive,

In this game of snakes and ladders. do we have ladders? The bottom barrel,

suffers from the same

incompetency in varied typologies of existence,

classed as a snake and with no ladders, as the bottom-down class ends,

The bell rings, the faces show up, the hunt begins, and then the penchant,

storms look eastwards,

In the west, the wind sails the land grabbers on the shores of,

unwelcoming hostile people, swap and scrub the offshoots,

Their diseases were enough to wipe out and decimate healthy man and children.

All die, is life and living, a monopoly of few, designs duplicitous merit, and the group of thugs grace the playground.

I run, run and run for my life; Jumping Valleys, rivers, and mountains like Forrest, and then jumping into a dark abyss, in an unending vacuum.

Being sucked inside the vortex of the earth falling on the crust and jumping to the seas of sky abode.

All fall and stylize, like many things outwardly, My hairs are caught, dragged by two hands.

And kicks and punches all fall everywhere, digging myself inside the already depressed dry rough mud pits.

In splits I see many people behind me, all in line waiting to have their way with me.

In all forms of exploitation and beating, to feed their vague alpha terrain and misogyny,

A theory propagated that is false, duplicacy theorizing bravery, is inept and empty in itself as an idea,

All the men with batons and sticks with barbed wire suddenly vanished and there was one, which was my father.

My mother’s tears did a number on me, and I had to take up that brick and beat him till he bled profusely,

All levels and terrains of violence seeped within, all of it came out like flowing lava much like a volcano edging to release heat and black smoke.

This is what theories of Darwin do to you, it kills you or makes you an unapologetic killer with blood on your hands.

Cosmic Context: This is a prose/poetic musing in the form of a story that talks about parental abuse, it depicts a wild father that beats his son and his mother. The son whose confidence is entirely shattered and broken gets bullied in school, Through all these experiences, he was churning, till one day it got to him and took a brick and hit his biological father striking his father's face again and again till all of it gets disfigured. Throughout his abuse episodes, he in his mind-space makes connections about social injustice, violence, colonialism, and patriarchy among other things that show the violent people dictating and perpetuating an unbalanced society where equality is a myth. He is fascinated by Darwinian’s theory of ‘survival of the fittest’ and applies it in real-life conditions.

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