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May 2018
Ripping the sense from my self
while sipping our poisoned supply.
A pretend utopia which borders hell,
we've damaged our comprehension.
Waking up to another tabloid,
your kings I cannot come to avoid.
Pushed in my face, eating out agendas.
Heartless charisma surround us all.

Laughter at the viral,
controlled by the dial tone.
Dreams we have to be the same,
but our intricacies state otherwise.
Molding the minds of a generation,
vassals who serve you well
for however long you have left
on this long-forsaken planet.
The wrinkles on your bodies
signify centuries of wealth
taking advantage of weakness
before it all starts to melt.
It happens easier now
for our voices flock to the net,
planning the next way we can
**** this world's livelihoods dry.

Cold, dead, empty.
I see it in your eyes.
There is no way out of
this finite simulation.
I can taste sinister intentions.
Written by
Wyatt  21/M/South Carolina
(21/M/South Carolina)   
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