White Coats 2

Look at the sores that you have left me with

I look corrosive nature of these sores that you have punished me with


The help has now turned to hate

A black bile rising from my stomach into my throat

The abyss now rises up to the level of my iris

No more an event easily solved by platitudes


My flesh wrung between these callous fists and flung as soon as it’s hit its bandwidth

Stiff and struggling

Mouth watering and mumbling

Electric pulses zapping and hindering my ability to cognitively keep thinking


More than just a skeleton


But also a mangled human.


Mangled but a possible artifact for creative commentary


No more a human

No more a skeleton


But a fleshy charlatan

Taught to act within the confines of being part of civilisation

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