Don’t take it personal
Illness is terminal
Turned us
Into
Something else
Indiscernible
From the non-verbalize
Gerbils
Still running
Around the unyielding wheel’s
Torturous fortune
Inside a vivarium
Social distortion
Where trickle down
Sustenance
Keeps us appeased
And whatever they feed us
Much sooner diseased
Ever farther from freed
We are just pets in hands
Of the gods of greed
Squeezed