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labyrinth Sep 23
As largest corporations get richer
They recruit preacher after preacher

Who articulate long heroic stories
That hypnotize nations with glories

God, King, Country and bunch of other stuff
So, seeing the naked truth becomes very tough

While the hoo-ha keeps you entertained
An army of bad people very well trained

Are insidiously getting busy with
Economy but not like Adam Smith

A sudden crash in housing sector or stock exchange
And wealth changes hands real quick. So strange!

Thank God! You have lots of TV channels to follow
Or high-tech, comfy, memory foam that we call pillow

Time for watching more TV or taking a good nap
Over further deepened income distribution gap

Although witnessed by you almost on a daily basis
You’re far from knowing the meaning of financial crisis

System’s designed in a way, you will feel strong
Yet still be the weakest link, accept and play along

In this equation, you are a worthy variable
As long as you shut your mouth and act biddable

You’re the victim here dude, that the big guy abuses
Labyrinth warned you alright. Please! No more excuses

You’d better start reading this from the very beginning
To comprehend the repeating nature of the **** thing
Pending copyright process
Shutterr Aug 31
When can I feel like the victim
And only the victim
I can't be a victim and victimzer
At the same time
It sends me into a spiral
Of only accepting what you say
Is the truth
Aubrey Aug 6
toxic people LOVE playing the victim..
what was even more funny is how they’re SO GOOD at manipulating you and themselves and anyone around them into thinking you’re the bad guy.
sad but true, especially when you loved them for their flaws. ignored all the bad, even when EVERY SINGLE PERSON around you told you to stay away, walk away. you don’t listen, you decided to see the good, always.
second thing,
it’s very important to stay true to who you are and walk away from a toxic environment/person if there’s no sign of improvement.

learned that the hard way this year.  

I didn't like the way you glanced,
I didn't like the way you gazed,
l didn't like the way you whispered to
the other man's ear.

I didn't like the comments you made,
I didn't like the vibe you were giving my way,
I didn't like the way you smiled.

But you didn't care
that I didn't like.
You didn't care, who I was.
You just didn't care,
because you stepped close anyways
I don't understand how the victim is the one to be blamed, as the predator goes off easily. The sensitive ones blamed for how they feel as their reaction are blown out of proportion while the predator gaslights and walk off with no responsibility or consequence for their action. Why is that salt is added to wound, trigger pulled on a trigger while the perpetuators, manipulators walk off free. I don't understand why the victims suffer, while the predators are glorified. I don't understand, and maybe by breathing naivety never will.

- To the many things, I fail to understand about this world
For a very long time,
I wondered what was my mistake?
Why me?
What did I do to deserve it?
Did I attract you?
because I never meant to.

But now I realise,
It didn't matter
who I was,
where I was,
what I wore.

Because the person to blame
wasn't me, but you all along.
ayb Jul 24
Pin prickles in my **** hand again;
I should get a handle on this
before I completely forget how to hold things
and lose myself in tangled, labyrinth veins.
Sneaky, the past catches up,
grabs me by the throat, but I don't choke;
I don't feel it, but I do feel myself slipping down
into oblivion, further and further from help.
She watches, sinks further into her chair,
further into her shell, leaves before she can be
categorized "scathed."
Reality bit her hard long ago,
and she hasn't left her head since.
But this isn't about her;
it's about realizing the clock still says 12:21am
and only half comprehending
that it isn't "still,"
that 24 hours have passed
and I didn't notice a single second.
I sat here trying to shake off the pins and needles
in my foot
and wondering why I never find myself standing
after another loss.
I shake and quiver and try to breathe,
but I'm too busy holding my breath.
I complain because she could've been saved
but didn't want to be,
but I'm no different.
I'm at a loss for words – idiomatic, idiotic,
how does one explain a literal void?
I write the words, but they write themselves off,
they were never there.
I guess the same could be said about me – never there.
But there's physical proof that I was,
proof that I am not a figment of my own imagination,
though I am a victim of it.
A victim of a withering mind, a wandering heart;
isn't that what a writer is?
After I write this, I will scavenge for a needle
and a spool of thread –
after what's broken is fixed,
maybe I'll stop feeling these incessant pins and needles.
Kora Sani Jul 22
i used to reject that term;
because it wasn't enough.
i didn't feel like i survived
even though all my bones
were still in place
and my mouth could still smile

"survivor" wasn't enough
when the person i was
and should've been
didn't survive
but instead
walked away
and left me alone

there was a moment in time
where i told myself
that despite all these thoughts
i would become a survivor
like everyone told me to;
that i would make the conscious decision
to find myself again;
to return to who i was
and how i felt before that day

i would soon learn
that just because my body is not shattered
doesn't mean the remnants of my nourished mind
weren't doing any damage

every day
i survive
and every day
i choose to continue

so now it's time to make a friend;
to learn the new person
i had no choice but to become;
the person i had been suppressing for so long
Effie Rose Jul 22
The night sky is blue.
Amaranthine - endless
The mosaic trail left upon my satin skin.
The tinge caressing my eyes,
Which have seen
The devil himself
And yet dare not expose the azure brutality
Enveloped in your venomous cradle.

The waves are blue.
An exhausting struggle I brave
Desperate to subsist
As you seek to drag me
To the ocean floor -
Where I embrace my demise at your hands.

Blood flows blue
Yet pours red.
The colour you see each time I dare to pursue escape.
The colour you see
If I am to take too long in the bathroom.
If I am to have a quiet word with my friends
Without your contiguity
Looming like a cloud
Threatening a downpour congruent with my tears
As I beg them to liberate me
Yet say no such thing.

The lights projected from the ambulance
Pleading with traffic to manufacture a path
As I lay
Broken ribs and a broken heart.
Not the first assault and victim to more than yourself
But my forgiving nature
Assures that this is not the final beating.
As my skull is glued and the morphine streams through my veins
And the boys in
Delicately ask
“Did he do this, again?”
I nod,
Though the officer shakes his head,
His pen moving freely of his hand,
He acknowledges that tonight he will return to his wife,
He will have his meal and pray that his daughter is spared.
And I will return,
To the lair of the beast.

My eyes swollen.
My body imitating scaffolding; bones and skin housing the weary soul.
My hands shake as they struggle to grasp reality.
My cheeks stained by the violent, sempiternal flow of tears.
My ribs, forbidden from healing prior to the next wave of brutality,
Stood at an angle god himself could not manufacture.
My voice weak, desperate, pleading;
I beg no one to liberate me.
I, myself, choose to betray your corruption.
I tell my story, though it is not a tragedy.
I showcase, unforgiving - as you were,
The ‘love’ you enforced upon me.
The bloodthirsty way your soul adored mine.
The months of seemingly incalculable assault
Emotional torture
The autonomy you stole from me.
I want it back.
Instead it lies, at the bottom of your cobalt ocean.
Wrecked and never to be recovered.
Even in exposing you, and hand-delivering my message to you,
That you lost.
I do not regain the life you mercilessly devoured.

I must rebuild my own life.
Despite and in spite of you.
Though the blue I once knew was bruised and afraid.
The Sapphire I learn is of unwavering strength, kindness
And peace.
I forgive you,
Though I hope to God that you rot in a place where blue
Seems inviting.
'Blue' is a piece I created not so long ago; and it helped me to explore feelings and situations I could not at the time process or verbalise. I hope that 'Blue' can bring any survivors reading it some peace; as you realise you are not alone, your feelings of grief, helplessness and animosity are valid; and you will come out on top. I believe in you, I love you, and I'm proud you have walked away or are considering doing so. You deserve better than this.
money bought him
the young flowers to
money bought him

yet his money
bought him trouble
for his victims were
well below the age of

his money will need
to buy good legal
as the New York prosecutors
so desire his

money never purchased
him an ounce of
on his money he'll be
left to endlessly
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