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the love in my soul grows cold
from consumerist lesions and smiles that are painted on with invisible hands.
yet still, supply and demand
are people's pick-me-ups
and the sweet scent of positivity is considered corrupt.

when it rains, the sky drops pieces of the pie I can never attain
despite my wealth of spirit.
but I go to work every day, praying for the change that was promised.
I don't want to be rich, only heard
by those who write the checks and protect the peace of power.

outside of my tenement w...