Spitting up blood;
Living, dying,
What's its worth?
I feel as the Emerald Ash Borer,
Hated by those around me
And stamped upon
Until I am eradicated
Whilst those same people
Attempt to find some use from me
Before I am killed.
These are not loving societies,
Reflected in our treatment of others;
It was very nice to have known all of you.

I shutter desire,
I quiet fear,
And drag a rusty blade across my skin.
It's about what I let out,
Not what I've taken in.
These sweat and tears,
This blood that drops,
I hope you all soak it up.
Each of you, like ***** mops;
Never getting anything clean,
Just spreading all the muck around
And calling everyone *****.

I have never met a more complacent lot,
Than those of my compatriots;
Never have citizens been more obedient,
Than those of my immediates.
Forget spilled tea, today it's
Watered down coffee.
Biscuits cut with sawdust
Out from smaller & smaller molds,
Eating whatever fed us.
Cause we all know hunger

Believing any narrative pushed so long as it's prevailing;
The populace obsessed with popularity.

It's a headache & a headrush in the states,
Cool if you make the breaks
But that's like hitting the ******* lottery.
You gotta ask, what gives?
What does it take
To get a fair chance to stake a claim
In a country full of people who don't give a ****?
What sense does it even make
To try,
When no one in charge does?

For my own lot, & life -
Whether tis here or afar

What fresh invention,
Breaking with convention;
To press down with anger,
And drive firm with depression.
Comfort in the arms, of a
Thorny ex. Bathed in attention.
A hopeless obsession- the silenced
Tongue wags,
In this quiet procession.