I sit in this room, day after day, rotting and rotting and rotting away.
The sun that I see is snuffed by smog,
Transferred to LCDs in parks and streets,
Reminding the coughing passers-by
Of what it looks like to have a blue sky.
And I... I don't want to work a 9-5.
I don't want anyone to.
I don't want to participate in a cancerous system
That consumes continents of life just to churn out some ******* paper and oil.
It sounds apathetic, but it isn't.
I don't pity myself in the slightest:
I pity having to exist in this ****** up world
Where you're nothing more than an exploitable resource,
And where you are among the billions of others that will never be remembered,
Lost in the vast swathes of "disposable" humanity
That live and die in a rigged system
Built for and by those on top.

I just want to get away.
I don't want to be a part of this place.
I don't want to see another school get shot up.
I don't want to read another sensational headline.
I don't want to hear about a "just" war.
I don't want to breathe the toxic air.
I don't want to be see another skyline built by slaves.

I just want to be away.
Every second of every day I feel a desire to get away.
An incessant wanderlust for some place else,
Somewhere that isn't dark, cold, and bland,
Somewhere that wasn't built by poor immigrants.
Somewhere that wouldn't pave a forest to build a ******* parking lot.
Somewhere that isn't here.