Corrupt.
This system of ours.
Held to the highest of honors.
Screw the people.
Come off clean.
Claim mental illness.
Plant evidence.
Frame the people.
Make it about politics.
Blame it on a group.
It is not my fault.
What did I do?
While I suffer,
They live in peace.
While I crumble,
They continue.
To screw the people.
YOU ARE READING
Blue
PoetryThis should end up being a poetry book for future spontaneous inspiration. Feeling inspired now is way too hard. It should come naturally, but now I need to work for it.
