The Ant Hill

Musik: Juliet - Emilie Autumn
Klieden: Protest top, PJ bottoms
Filme: Primary Colors (Nichols)
Buchen: Twelfth Night by Shakespeare

I wrote this poem today, sitting alone at university like the saddo I am. However, I did feel it was of good enough quality to post here.

The Ant Hill
It’s so busy!
Can you see the ants swarming?
Picking up bits of food,
Hoarding it sociably, in togetherness.
The food consists of paper, ink;
It’s made of words and abstraction.
It fills bellies:
They glut themselves on it,
Till they cannot move,
Cannot do anything useful anymore.
They follow one another in thin little lines,
Congregating to a central point:
The Ant Hill.
They’re told that it is glorious there,
But that is a lie.
The lie is cold, calculated.
The lie costs over a thousand pounds,
More than that, even,
If you wish to reach the centre of the Ant Hill.
Inside there is a hollow, dark space,
A stretching abyss of emptiness.
Of course, the food is stored there
And you can eat your fill,
Eat until you’re sick
Because it’s sickly sweet.
And soon you’ll find you can eat no more.
Yet, you’re almost starving
Your belly expands, ugly and round,
Like a full moon.
Inside The Ant Hill you cease to be
That youthful dream of a fat, full life.
All you can do now is to drink your own tears;
The salt dries you up.
The Ant Hill is just dirt, stuck with glue.
Soon you’ll be that very dirt, too.