same people sell the cures
sell the sickness
doctors are no more than ******
doing business
jacks of all trade
expect respect as masters
for their monopolised aid
Im sick of the *******

those lines of thought that form your perspective
diverge upon crossing your limited horizons
the straight and true that became your direction
is skewed obtuse when viewed from afar

am I dying?
is this lie I'm lying in
not my death bed?
was I not born and raised
taught and trained
to be the man I am?
so who failed then?
me whose way was barred
went wayward
as would any so tarred
and feathered
when the wind is
buffeting
nary a smorgasbord
nor a lilting breeze for me
nought but the storm
caught four square
dead on
can tame what ails thee

if you could make her think
you'd be ****** her mind
a glance in her direction
marks you out as one of "those" kind
romantic suggestion
will be remembered as a hate crime
the only dating you'll be doing later
is with your name on the dotted line

you dont need hands to catch you
once youve learnt how to fly
safety is the net you have to escape
if you ever expect to reach the sky
rules are for the few to control the many
so that the few can thrive
you owe no justification for your own satisfaction
no other reason than your own reason why

superlative hyperbole
describes the man
the culture
the nation
so imagine what a sight it will be
by far the greatest assassination

whether you like it or not
you cant escape it
come to terms or come to blows
but youre not going to change it
as the world turns
it has a way of rearranging
yesterday becomes tomorrow
every day