A Lack of Colour

A world built for the stupid
Where they shall flourish and flounder
By ignorance strings 
Kept glued-on by fear
Hold back the potentials
Like war is a ration for the poor
I'm very thin, and tired of the plastic trail
We follow, without avail
Their place is so assured,
But mine is secondary lies

Jobless. . .like I even cared for
What job I had:
When younger abused, neglected,
Now, from the indoctrination system
Aborted into this dying world
C'est la vie says the coyote,
But it's only how we've made ourselves live
I choke inside, as it comes out of him
because it never changes
Until the right chemicals flood into my head. . .
Otherwise I'm dead
The constant hunger is all I know. . .
And the interim, I always think
Of how so soon I'll be starving again
The plants lay untended,
So our spirits dine, processed

Everything is symbolic, hence mutable,
Ever-changing
So that's all I feel until the right chemicals'
Spirits are into me:
Grey like monochroma
To Grey like storm
Dollar kills are the predation of avarice crackers
Whose salt and pepper is the blood of the unknowing,
Upon them the butter of
The hard-working, the "all-American"
Separation of the haves and have nots
Grows as exponentially as our economic system

I tire of the walls,
Like a spider on them I crawl
As a cat, I walk straight through
But my body's still stuck here,
In this ununimous glue
Of greed that binds

My potentials are as circumsized
As my penis
I flounder to find them,
In the most unnameable conditions
Unwarrants for my arrest

Always the voice,
The hopelessness
It fades, for a while,
As I feel how I should be
But then dissipates. . .
Biding my time is the most
stir-crazy crime against my existence
I insist, that it's what I resist

Destruction seems like the only answer
To this ever-spanning cancer
But then a relent,
As she's back again, but out again. . .
I can't learn with this hole in my head 
I want another world
My satiation, in this one, can't be fed

The wind roars loud
Mirroring the blue hue of this room
The dream catcher rests on the knob of the door
His on the ceiling,
Sleep catches me more, evermore