the pretty

we traffic in souls on scented paper

bound to golden grab bags of

glitter laid waste by the wind

smell the page

don't read between the linear look of perfection

lest you see the truth

truth kills

you know

your skills

could blow your chances of salvation

roads paved in fear

in dear and dreary dominance

of those penning policy

social circles kept sacred

lock out the locals

riff raff must be contained

tell them they are happy

tell them they are brave

tell them they are free

in shackles strategically placed around the throat and

ankles

lost to roadside bombs

and poverty

minimum wage is all the rage

in six figure incomes

or was it eight

to state the obvious

lull them all to sleep

with chants of nine one one

in a chorus of

we care so you don't need to