Hole

We are warped and twisted like cheap plastics

Alien, to much more then our labor, as predicted

We are not sure whom, or where we are anymore

Lost, except to the putrid taste of the beast’s entrails

Enwrapping us in hypnotic, sticky strangulation

Even time, is, indebted, to someone

We are increasingly tangled in the psychosis of perplexity

All the work and time, we spend learning to lie and fly

While we have always been, able to soar, honestly

Even with the variations of these, deformed wings of poverty

So many years spent, fueling ourselves with

The wrath and fury of injustice

The grind of daily oppression and inequality

Our duty supersedes the future we tread lightly on

Our hearts begins to feel, as a crumbling hole

We are not from the past, but somewhere else

While we attempt to grapple with the mundane existence

Of existing in a delusional reality occupied with artifices

Of which, as hard as we try, we feel ourselves dissolving into

No one walks the deer’s path, but the mislaid and forlorn

While the marked trail is laden

With moral and religious righteousness