Habitual, that is what you call me,

as you finish your sentence casually

turning my life from living,

to death as long as I live,

sealing me into history as another

judicial fatality,

blinding saviors in society

until even their elect eyes consider

this normality.

I sit behind walls and spit at

the potential nonsense you push

at my common sense,

making me look dense,

but truth be told

I’m just a reflection of the


caught by captivity,

locked down by savagery,

tempted to dance in the American

economical parody

and sadly, not many seem to care

that the voice of the people

Is being choked out by the governmental snores

that only cater to their affairs,

while we become victims

they reap share,

but who cares.

who cares that we are looked at

to be socially pitiful

so we get treated habitual.

What does it matter that I’m also

a human life,

but because I made bad choices

you decide to treat my soul trivial

my situation is now critical,

and though some may say I’m

being analytical, reading,

too much into a thing,

I say I’m just calling it

like I’ve seen it

since the day you amended

13, and while Martin

Luther had it, it’s not hard to tell

that we are still living the same

slaved out scene

praying to get fed peaches,

but only getting served the cream

of a dream.

but yet I see the sun rising over

the horizon it seems, sadly

I gaze past the judicial, pass the

political, beyond all the trivial that

tries to assault my visual

as I press for the mark to hit

in societies heart

to get them to see that there’s

more to me

than just being displayed to be


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