Rust

I am owned by this place where I do not belong.

This satanic mill.

 

And every day I wake up and fear my youth is gone.

 

I swear to God I'll stop drinking tommorow.

 

You know, my shoes were made by children with bloodstains under their nails,

And sowing needles through their palms.

 

Welcome to capitalism. Welcome to profit.

Welcome to freedom to chose to die in whatever way suits you best.

 

And all we dream.

All we dream, and hope, and wish is to own the mill when we grow up.

And drink the blood.

Not bleed.

And rust.

Reviews

[Ari]

Wow. This is stark, and real, and beautiful, without being preachy.

Amazing.

[Mary]

"I am owned by this place where I do not belong."

My sentiments, exactly.
I love the raw, hoplessness of this.