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Literature Text
The Despondent, Burnt-Out Shell of a Western World, Predominantly White Male
Devoid of passion
I have fallen.
The chemicals sustain
even as they rot.
I deteriorate before my eyes.
The pain has become dull,
The damage done.
I cry out
And silence reigns.
Torn and twisted
My mind reels.
I've become what they want,
what I despise,
Focused on the goal;
I earn another dollar.
But what of the toll?
I'm broken
despondent
A burnt out shell
of the working class.
I find escape
where they direct.
So ineffectual,
everyday.
I see her
as she cries.
Her Love,
has gone.
Devoid of passion
I have fallen.
The chemicals sustain
even as they rot.
I deteriorate before my eyes.
The pain has become dull,
The damage done.
I cry out
And silence reigns.
Torn and twisted
My mind reels.
I've become what they want,
what I despise,
Focused on the goal;
I earn another dollar.
But what of the toll?
I'm broken
despondent
A burnt out shell
of the working class.
I find escape
where they direct.
So ineffectual,
everyday.
I see her
as she cries.
Her Love,
has gone.
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It hurts.
The toll that is taken.
Night-shift makes it worse.
The toll that is taken.
Night-shift makes it worse.
© 2007 - 2024 Venice-Sweet
Comments12
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And goals become dreams and dreams, fantasy and fantasy dies a slow and painful death. Bludgeoned by reality, responsibility, and the quest to make a dollar just to keep a family fed, housed and clothed.
And we are left... shells of our youth, wrinkled, empty, unsustained.
No longer buoyed by all the hopes once held, now done to dust in a society that only cares for what it can obtain from others.
And we are left... shells of our youth, wrinkled, empty, unsustained.
No longer buoyed by all the hopes once held, now done to dust in a society that only cares for what it can obtain from others.