Mercer's Poems
Endless Spinning Globe

Endless fucking spinning globe, 
I hold no love for thee and thy ways. 
Ever trodden on yet, somehow you pull the strings
you cerulean and emerald whore. 

And where do I stand in the scale. 
To you I am insignificant and, it seems
my greatest power is that I am as such
also to myself. 

And for what? I exist here to help spread 
this disgusting disgrace of a race of waste? 
These human beings? Parasites!?
A pox. 

Like cancer we grow. 

And so my brain shivers incessantly. 
My body with it, with no control. 
If only you could slow for a moment, 
I could catch up. 
But you keep on fucking spinning.

And so what’s left? But death…