We work
Toil dirt.
Corpse through life.
We don't exist.
Traipsing through grave yards,
Dead eyes look through the dark.

Sewer trash,
Thrash compact,
The homeless starve,
My empathy lapses.
Motionless,
Starving,
Dead in the beat.
The blue cops the trash piler,
Creating the skids.
The bodies line the streets,
Carcass figurines,
With no names,
No home,
No privileges.

******* *******.