Too sick to stand in line
this fragile state of mind
a smile lost in the curves of a frown
not ill enough for a portrait of the crown
Too weak to speak, no words to express
the nagging pain inside, causes distress
a stained mind, a broken machine
not cracked enough for a picture of the queen
It hurts to walk, like a million paper cuts
pour on the salt, still not ill enough for the suits
the cost cutting doesnt stop the pain
not enough blood spilled to win their games
Depression bears down, buries its axe in your chest
but still not enough to pass their test
whilst they watch you crash, they study the unemployment charts
they mark you down as fit for work, whilst your world falls apart
DWP make me sick, whilst their figures look healthy
when you cant leave your bed, they are out taking selfies
enjoying the pain they inflict, they wont let the fruit spoil
whilst you sit destitute and torn, makes the blood boil
Thanks For Reading.
Peace & Love.
Kyle.
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