“ATROCITIES”

William Fröberg
Nov 1 · 1 min read

Atrocities.

Cities that lack pity.

Admit it, you see but you just do not care.

There are more immediate matters at hand.

Questions of origin and land.

Searching for contraband.

Alleviating pressure in the borderland between man to man.

Combat hand to hand.


You don’t have a problem with him, nor his crew of cats.

Pick a fight you can win, aristocrats.

In a new sense, hallucinating rats got a hold of the incense.

They say the best defense is a good offense,

And if you’re on the fence about the idea of a white picket fence,

Maybe you and I could speak in the future tense.


Apathy wone, empathy zero.

I’m standing on the roof like Emperor Nero.

Thinking of jumping though, joining the hopeless stains on the cobblestone.

But I watch on, captivated by the flames.

And as the city burns, I am reminded of the human rage.

It occurs when pushed into a corner.

My first inclination is to warn her.

But our collective mother has done far worse things to foreigners.

Perhaps the time has come to divorce her.

What were we before her?

Dorment torture. Cornered.

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