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Everything feels so small, in closing around you, almost suffocating.
You feel the self consciousness seeping into your pores.
No matter how much you itch and twitch
That feeling won’t shake off.
The phantom that looms behind every step.
The little devil that whispers ideas into your head
The words weave in and out
Squealing cruel words like the school children
Trying so hard to discard all the naught nights with good
We blame our bad deed by titling them a sickness
Wearing the skin of social expectations
Married and committed to what other people think.
You soon notice the beady, foraging eyes of the pigs.
The pigs that patrol the streets
Looking for the lost that has yet to be drugged on religion, materialism and money.
The dregs that has been lost in the gutter beyond the point of no return.
Dawdling in the underbelly and the landfill of this world
Built by the gluttonous swine of the corporations, churches and the government.
Peering down from their high chairs of this world,
Noshing on the people’s despair and hopes
Whispering empty words and empty dreams, all laced in sick.