Prisoner of Wages

Strength in numbers.

Your all thumbs.

You bleed too much for someone's mirror.

Now that the truth's out,

I must run.

Leave you by the road,

mouth gaping.

Dust finds where your holes are open

rushes to you like dark spikes

in a torture room for souls...

Tell me how you see

this playing...

...Now that sun cooks

off your wrist rope.

Are you all that you could be,

or do gold coins conduct

your person?...

Like a prisoner of wages,

there's no bottom you can see...

Busted head, and bloodied eye...

Strumpet with no will to breath.

6/19/20

Alessa Cleanse