There are These People

these people sit up on their hills,
built upon a mass of dead hearts
twisted bones and acupuncture souls
fornicated bodies and the mangled wreckage
of rotting .......
its not that they don't care
they
just
don't
care.
the sky is smog yellow and devastatingly black
below are all of us
the supposed non conformers
the people with no defense
we huddle in a great mass and wait
wait for victory
nothing more and nothing less
the chill in our bones
the holes in our clothes
and the blood clots formed around our eyes
our dirty fingernails
no doctor or pharmaceutical can cure what ales us
hope is lost
drown in your defeat
sleep alone in your small crevice
lie like a rat
and steal like a thief
take every last chance
you deserve it