Where do I thrust this excess?
Before I explode with my next breath?
This industry is killing me,
slowly but surely.
Why must I work twice as hard
for half as much
as those with a finer visage?
My veneer is a dark sneer,
to avoid smearing hate speech
upon those for whom I should care.
But should I really?
I’m rather undecided,
as the haves and have nots
will always remain divided.
We speak not of it
for over it we would collide,
it’s why they all know to keep
their dollars from our eyes.
It’s why they all know
to put on their disguise,
and call me friend with a smile,
meanwhile, like a masked turnstile
or two faced gargoyle,
I’m taken for granted
and in times of need abandoned.
Unless buttered up with guilt
those sluts will do as they wilt.
But what of mine,
my will, my portion of the divine?
Who got to decide that I was
somehow inferior?
That the good jobs aren’t for me,
that I’m denied the moneyed interior,
that I should instead be sent without
to fill swimming pools from my brow.
Faster, faster!
That’s all that matters,
while those priviledged
can stand around and chatter,
or move about leisurely,
meanwhile, each hour is a
sprint for me.
Who’s responsible for this tragedy?
Why does the truth make folks mad at me?
This isn’t a divine comedy,
I’m reaching out to somebody…
… or at least someone that cares,
perhaps that’s why I keep my demons
in here.
Keep searching Captain,
soon the Way will become clear.
I could keep going,
but why is that concurrent
with when I feel like I can't?
Why is it that I can hardly
rely on chance?
Chance is what gave the others
special powers,
the power to devour
without responsibility or risk,
I’m straight up tired of this shit.
But what can I do,
when all my collars
are stained blue?
I remember when I was determined
to make my collars white.
Perhaps I should have used bleach,
but there is no technique for the eyes,
as if that would stop me from
seeing too much…
… fuck.