Yes and it wouldn't move even tho I kept spitting on it

Twenty 8 and Nothing Happened Today

When I was fifteen I killed 8
5 were heretics, their listless hermeneutics dripping from careless tongues
2 were lovers, self-traitors for an ideal they didn't want to understand
The last a king, drunk not on power, but from an obsession with static reality

I didn't start digging til I was seventeen
A good thing too: I reached the other side before I was 18
People didn't mind much
Kings and lovers, who even believed in such things anymore?
And heretics hung by a tenuous thread as it was.

When I finished I walked and I walked,
Hoping to bypass the awkwardness.
But 22 tripped me up, chortling, wheezing.
I fell cyclically til upright once more.

I would have kept going but twenty five was fed up
Who was next on the list I didn't even know about?
Stalling. Stalling. Stalling.
Not the simplest thing, driving manual.

With the heretics gone, so too dogma
With the lovers gone, so too hatred
With the king gone, so too dissent.