Our lives, our purpose
it seems...worthless,
just to become worker bees.
To provide for the
slave drivers
of the rich hive mind,
only out to steal your time.
Wage deniers,
keep you tied to their conveyors,
whilst they sit in luxury.
I'm flummoxed by this insanity,
where we drive ourselves mad
to provide for someone
who already has more money than
some countries ever had.
Keep going
birth until death.
Taking a breath,
wages have been docked for less.
Sick,
they will just call you lazy,
relieve you of your duties entirely.
Scrapheap seat,
the place you will sit,
whilst they bask in golden thrones.
We will just wallow in the shit.
Let me starve.
Let me freeze,
it’s better than this life
of a worker bee.
I'll bleed.
I'll lie on your icy slab
in frozen mortuary,
let you bury me
in a paupers cemetery,
because what I live with daily
isn't a lie, it isn't some choice I made.
I didn't wake up one day and say
fuck it I fancy some mental illness today.
It isn’t a choice, you see.
I don't expect silver spoon Tories
to understand,
too busy trying to ruin our land
in any way they can.
And we never had sky tv either.
You call our illnesses lies.
Fraudulent sicknotes
to pay for our
supposed luxury lives.
Tell us that
when there are mass suicides,
when people are destitute
and homeless just waiting
for the next downward slide.
Thanks for reading
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