It’s all just one big con isn’t it? Work for scraps, to buy food that poisons you, to run a car giving you cancer, never able to truly save up for that rainy day that we’ll never see once the mushroom clouds have burned out our retinas
Demanded in Custody
The prisons are built, for the poor and benign.
Undress of my will
To face balances, bills
The past has not passed;
With present danger does it lurk.
Settle for nothing
Until someone listens.