Breathing fumes so foul

That twist your nose in knots

And bring ten stomachs to a collective growl.

Wretched stench that keeps us

Clean away from scents

We wish to have today.

And so we buckle

Under every chuckle

At business meetings.

Restrain from showing

Any pain

At someone's grieving.

Having sex with robots

For some realness feigning

To paint our truest shades

Under this greyest ceiling.

Longing for a step

Onto a broken glass.

To feel the joy at last

Of razor cuts that pierce the nerve

And send us screaming fierce

In ecstasy absurd...

Time honored tradition

Of submission...

You're no longer heard.

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