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emblazoned on the gang's coat of arms
was the following logo
we fight without any principles
for we are of the very low

***** tactic achieve our ends
and we take pride
in the way we trample all over
the much politer tends

stray not into the areas
that we patrol and control
as our thuggery will
hammer a robust toll

our triumphs are legendary
across many a land
we've a history in employing
the grubbiest hand

one qualification which is essential
when joining our accord
that's to be a bandit capable
of playing the foul sword
Graff1980 Dec 2016
I blink tiredly listening to parallel pipes push plastic particulates in and out around the factory, while white towers give off billows of powerful pollutants. Cylindrical silos rise echoing a sound like snowy static from an old black and white tv. I walk and watch this strange scene following train tracks that go nowhere and back from there. The train is graffitied with some minor marks and more complicated tags. One roughly sprayed owl covers an old ***** orange car with the words “I wish I could rust away to” followed by red lettered “Itchy legs” and a more elaborate display that says something unintelligible but looks spectacular. Concrete carries the weight of the old train cars. It is cracked partially from the truck drivers and other workers but mostly from the earth shifting as the cement expands over time. Shallow lines in the concrete pursue their parallels. Their more prominent brothers curving and splintering as the deepest cracks cut fully across the back of the factory lot. This is what I watch from whatever time it is to the infinity of night that fills my sight. I am tired beyond tired. Feet sore, body slightly thinning but my mind is beginning to lose its distinct edges. Until, all reality becomes a walk around the factory. There is no yesterday or tomorrow only endless caffeinated patrols, and a yearning for the release of sleep.
Pauline Morris Mar 2016
In the hole
Only the darkest of thoughts flow
In the hole
Only the worse scenarios go
In the hole
Only the coldest winds blow
In the hole
Only the demons patrol
In the hole
Is where you lose your soul

— The End —