Tuesday, August 7, 2012


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