Uncultured Pop
It's a piece ripped from myself.
Truth brutally extracted for their musing.
They plead for me to bleed often.
Because they might find it soothing.
They delight when we suffer.
Nepotistic sadistic circle of acceptance.
They worship ruin expecting perfection.
Cheering you with a muted indifference.
I see your twisted game.
A sad view that's excruciating to feel.
Greedy survivors of inward starvation.
Stripping us and tossing away the peel.
We don't pander to the pawing.
Those who do find the abyss.
Truth remains externally unfound.
To the narrow mind, an impossible gyst.
I will gush blood until I'm dust.
But I will never sacrifice for them.
I do what I do because I must;
refusing their footing to effect or condemn.
My struggle to evolve is written.
Wounds laid bare for all to see.
You think it's for you.
It's how I get a better look at me.
-Angel Fatale-
Copyright © Ryan Tyler | Year Posted 2016
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