It’s not even like they are vultures. 

No cruel, hulking monsters salivating over sadism. 

Rather they are devoid of feeling.

Robotic collectors of resources.

Callously targeting the lonely public. 

No measurable distance between anything.

Only an unknown chasm and unidentifiable sources.

Stone faced lies to cover up yet more stone faced lies. 

The thickest of walls to protect the thickest of thieves. 

Bloodied beaks and black hearts. 

Blind obedience to a system that thrives from indifference.

Watches love rot on the barren earth.

And with no regret,

lies down to die upon silken pillows.

Ignorant to the truth behind its bland misery.

Not one number or symbol available to calculate,

the calculated death of honour.