The quest for my truth feels forbidden.
Like it was thrown away.
Left in a cage.
It was denied.
No one to pay more than minimum wage.
Behind closed doors, I swore I would never be some whore.
My bank account says I’m poor.
I don’t want to sleep on the floor.
So I sweep when presented a feast.
Sucking at the minerals like a savage.
I manage I smile although I’m ravaged.
I’m a peasant.
I don’t live in the present.
I thirst for tomorrow.
Not moral honor in my repressed sorrow.
If life continues to bring remiss, do I have to constantly feign bliss?
If the cycle is unending, will my sanity be transcending?
Longer then my reach, this existence has mutated into a leech.
Systematic in greed.
What I perceive in mostly reprieve.
Structured to cause the masses to struggle.
Weighted down without an escape latch or shuttle.
Crabs in a barrel.
Hidden by controlled governmental tricks.
I’m screaming in agony.
I don’t want to lose my wits.
Even though it’s bound to split.
Toss and turn.
My raggedy patience burns.
Leaving my silenced logic.
I stay trapped in the Beast’s closet.
Until someone else can solve it.
My truth stumbles in apocalyptic boots.
Originally published at 12BY6.