Derive your own meaning while poets stay dreaming and fat cats stay scheming...

A dame grown broken down spills her heart out with the blood she can't lend. My best friend has to get by on food stamps with a 9 to 5 to pay for his insulin. Diabetes ain't no joke and don't ask why they haven't provided a cure. It's a testament to how money talks while he endures the sufferin' for others to get at that comb of honey. Did I forget to mention, all y'all listening, that we're barely over twenty? Meanwhile my lil sis lies bedridden comatose while the doctors with fancy degrees shake their heads at this personal disease they can't diagnose. Young in the deteriorating body she was given while much older in all her pride, accepting what fate has dealt her with and knowin' peace inside.  Boast 'bout how you got diamonds in yo teeth, and how the welfare you're making is more than I get paid overtime to feed my fam, ILY. Lather, rinse, repeat, take a moment to be grateful for your bed. I'll take this hate raw and remember there are fates far worse than death. Not to sound pretentious, like we've taken worse blows than others who are stressin'. After all, the message that we wish to confide:
Every breath is precious, it matters what you do with your time, down to the last second.