This armor is so world weary
Fitted with adolescent ennui
Linked tautly with words self-taught
in reflex like the jerking of a chain
Around the collar of a neck whose vocal steps have
Ambled too far from a reliable lexicon
There are no words to describe the entirety
Of feeling on display in a glass ceiling
Glass stained with the gall of so many neglected questions
The loudest of them being when will the ladder
Become a bridge
Even then
Who will man the toll
And who will decide
Who gave who the right
To take away the faith in mine?
The Artificial Intelligence
Who engineered this life
Did so-with so few people in mind
And now our fields our laden with squalorly mines
So we scavenge the free market to insure our capitalist security
Armored in whatever manifesto can justify living this
Life so fantastic
Life so tragic
Life so frantic
Life so spastic
Life so
I hate you
Sounds so much like the
The most exhausted piece of armor being crunched through
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