The outside world is affecting me,
Its poison deep seeps into me,
Developing harsh its cancer within,
Symptoms surface felt thin beneath skin,
And I allow worry woe to overcome me,
Living life bred
To work through blind days instead,
Expression tight held back in might,
Aching hands which beg to create,
And struggle for food or amenities light.
Such a life's waste,
Everyday a day away,
For upon few brief moments
Free time to arrive whose chance slips by,
Nothing gets done,
Those plans, that book, my art, this poem,
Bright flashes before nodding away.
Dull shine the mundane existence,
Free moments are a sin,
Considered such by those authority
Whose employment we give in,
Dare you waste a waking eye
In personal sweet revelry.
The outside world has affected me,
Its poison now seeped deep within,
The cancer of working class spreads thin,
I am now addicted to fleeting
Excitements of material pacification,
I am trapped,
I am a life not lived,
I am infected by the disease
Of social being;
I am drone.