Busted mind
Come to find
What makes
You you
Isn’t true.
It’s diabolical
It’s chronological
Arranged in a way
With no say
Of normalcy,
Of divinity
Its creation
Is fucked,
Ruined,
Ragged,
Jumbled mess
Nothing less
Than unique,
Obsolete;
To cure the curse
Reach thy purse
And surmise
The working prize-
“Cash is king”
So they sing
The very thing
Landed you here;
Now you fear
Your escape
The destined fate
Is a life of
Pills
No thrills
Inadequacy rules
You
Forever.
11/13/08, MR
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