Are you contrite, comrade? Because you appear to be excavated. hollowed. out Your soul, it's just manual labor after all. A legal offense by an illegal citizen. Dragged out screaming, putting up a fight. Collect yourself on the outskirts of the city. a browbeaten and whitewashed history. No empirical research is done on your behalf.  They deemed you unworthy to live amongst those who aren't even indigienous. Your future is as bright as the cremated remains of your ancestors. Consideration is dead. delayed accomplishments because you're faltering again. What has become of you? Perpetual sadness. you're not finished mourning. You passed the time As time has passed, you by. the world has moved on and left you decomposing in your studio apartment. Idly waiting to overcome dissapointment and lifelessness. trembling at the thought of failing again. Instead of an honorable death, you assimilate and obey. Minutia complaints have defined your life No enthusiam, no expectations. You're not antagonized by the demands But you're oblivious to the helping hand. You need to search for that defiance of your youth. A penchant for Radical reform is glossed over by your vocation, Working so hard, you're only working for yourself. I'd rather you were enraged by the state. of affairs than hesitant about a notice of termination. Passiveness should make you irate but "maturation" has skewed your reality. Hacked up The balance sheets for one last riot in the street; hanged, drawn, and quartered. I'll die for my country but will you join me?