The ambient fog is thick, plus psychic brambles
poking from all directions, feel caught, feel trapped, feel
like feeling just causes more pain, feel like shambles
and rubble and ash is all I've ever known, steal
what silver I can from the moon, what gold I can
from solar bank, but feel trapped inside coffin bricks
most days, feel grafted into a robotic man
most days, copper veined wishes from commercial tricks
triggering neurology into lust-or-rust,
mind full of fight-or-flight disregarding what's right
or wrong, barbed wire lessening self to maintain thrust
after In God We Trust, but not believing; plight
of the person too late to capitalism
once lies twist vision to split sun to grey prism.
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