the poison of our own. and as the bitter air bit down i held my breath and thought of all the others on their backs. how do you organize resistance against something that's not even there? dirt covered fists screaming indignantly
midigate to out turned palms pleading admittedly. raping people of their hope and the sky of all its stars. they're dying at your feet but 'who cares who they are.' there's no place like home. it's like filling an empty glass from an empty bottle." and it's stricken by rigor mortis with your hand on the throttle. grasping at a chance through a wall of austerity and a fence of police enforced by democratic vulgarity. two percent controlling the power; controlling yo