Our whole world turned rotten until it became,
as we knew it, kaput, broken down and changed
into something underneath a metal foot;
forever carrying their weight on our hips,
living in a post-freedom apocalypse.
The Nepenthe Wards will stay with me,
Until I’m dead and grown into a tree-
Or until I succumb to that dreaded gloom
And become a patient in those rooms.
A war of attrition
Between the government and their nutrition,
That took the ants
And turned them into a rash in the pants.
For sometimes when the powerless act,
They are able to build themselves a rack,
On which to place their oppressors,
And act themselves as chief assessors.
But when the means to the end is a drug
That wipes the mind as if permanently drunk,
Then I wonder if this strategy is grand
Or just the start of the destruction of this land.
Desperation draws out the last hope,
The one you pray with which they won’t cope.
The one that trusts the future, the action of others
Perhaps a little too much,asking only for bother.
And so we wait, ever more of us in stasis,
For the start of the final chases
That take us from this world to the next,
Whether it be societal change
or a bullet to the chest.
