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Chris Feb 2021
A body on the streets
Step around, it reeks.

Life's been wasted
Thrown out for cash
Abrasion o' justice
The rich hide the rash
A human life, $7.25 an hour.

This poem was inspired by the song "Calm Like A Bomb" by Rage Against The Machine. Specifically the line "A ditch full of bodies, and a check for the rent" really hit homes. In the middle of a pandemic,  many people dying, many people laid off, and many people got evicted to live on the streets. To spread the disease. To spread captisalism. Socialism is the vaccine.
Merry Mar 2018
Radioactive dreams
Got me bursting at the seams
Life is strange as it seems
Neon confusions
Got me coming to conclusions
I undress the illusions

Love bombed lover
You can be replaced with another
Friends who ain’t friends
We all meet unsavoury ends
I’m a victim
To a system

We roll the dice,
Loaded like guns,
Against our luck
And we stare down snake eyes
As we tell ourselves some lies
About our ******* luck

Glitz and glamour
Sugary ******* and diamonds
Hundred-dollar bills
Become hundred-dollar fines
And hundred-dollar fines
Become one-dollar bills
They say don’t eat the rich
Because one day you’ll cannibalise yourself

There is an idea
Called the American Dream
And we’re just living in the fallout
Of such contagious, radioactive dreams
Essen Dossev Mar 2017
He worships at the shrine of capitalism
prays for a better fiscal quarter
with money spent in shopping malls,
a scrambling search for off-the-rack meaning
through blessèd, holy consumerism.
He gives thanks to this, our daily microwave meal,
while he mutters under his breath,
“What be the will of these, our stock-market Algorithms?"

He listens to sermons from business and econ profs preaching
from the higher-education steeples, teaching
students gathering like stampede sheeples, reaching
for a measure of worth in semester-long bursts
a silent choir scribbling in exam halls to petty praise,
leaving them burned out,
and crying on the bathroom floor,
lights out, itching for a wink
amidst insect hallucinations
adrenaline rushed
from Dexadrine or Adderall
dissociation flushed
from ketamine or alcohol
“What is wrong with me?”

Seeking answers,
he pays weekly penance to shrinks
a confessional of mental disorders from the Gospel of DSM:

“Forgive me, Doctor, for I have sinned.
It has been seven days since my last confession.
I’m obsessive, I’m depressive,
antisocial personality,
I’m poor as I ever was and ever will be,
I’m no service to society,
I'm squandered in sobriety,
but please
keep my hands tied
in these shackles of student debt!”

And his only act of contrition
is a medical prescription
made sweeter to swallow at communion
than the blood and body of Christ.

Welcome, the new order!
Welcome, the New Religion (TM)!

Pray it will be a better one
than what we left behind.

— The End —