Cut!

Amphetamine switchblade at my throat

Awash with fuel for the voice of reason to surmount

The rib of those who have been inside

Their lives, for pride

Shall be there when they all start to try and engulf

Their two –sin practise with three or four, until

It gets all too mixed up with the lies of the mater and pater

Of lives intermixed and asunder with pall and pope

Smoke and dope on a Christian chain of empathy and sweet

Sorrowful ambiance and trauma.

Copyright B E Saunders 2016

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