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You treat me as a flower From the side of the road With its own pure beauty You can’t let go You hold me in your arms Staring Wondering What I’ve been through Staring Wondering
The cold is numbing. Like morphine it trickles through my bones. It seeps into my fingers and it grips my balls. It kisses me like an abusive lover after the beating. The cold is comforting.
All I ever wanted is gone, down on the ground with the debris. All is lost undrneath the dirt and rocks Down with the worms, the bird seed amist of rain washes away into the gutter. Unchained and unchanged am I
Take, take, take, All you do is take Give, give, give, You struggle to give Feed your children Feed your people Allow your kind to thrive To reach the sky Allow them to shine bright
We are all just specks On the dirty, dirty hands
Twisted lies and teary eyes These news titles on the rise Wrong perspectives, strong objectives Activists are the real detectives Police brutality? Our reality? Families surviving on calamity
Government officials have fallen into the chains of guilty corruption, Our endowed right is no longer the Pursuit of Happiness. This backfires on our economic production, We the citizens have no wall of security.
There’s Suffering and crying, and a lot of people are still dying World leaders getting richer while their peoples bodies are piling Up to a mountainous top, corpses spewing like the steam from a boiling pot, of Genocide
It was a sunny frid
Sweaty palms, the itchy insides of the smoky marsh pits, discolored cloudy eyes with battered Fort Knox thighs,
Dirty Shoes. You have them, I have them. But somehow, They just don't seem that dirty.
I am a piece Of broken glass With sharp, corroded edges If you touch me You'll bleed, and become connected With all the secrets I try to keep. I am jagged, Dirty, Cold.
Once again Autumn is upon Leaves are changing, colors blossom trees nestle into their winter shell Year after year, I've always viewed things with such blind eyes just a tree, just a color,
The ball bounces against the crack of the drive Two little girls laugh as they miss the backward shot. Dusk disappears like their childhood
All my things jumbled because the mind is not: and I’ve nothing to reference, so am I truly me?