• There is a boy sitting,
    In that dank padded room.
    Entertained by the flickering light,
    The light that shows only filth and decay.
    He is force fed trash,
    Hypnotized to believe it is the purest ambrosia.
    Lies are whispered in both his left and right ear,
    Never compromising.
    He has become fat,
    yet he is empty.
    He wears cloth woven of gold,
    but will throw it away whenever he can
    so he can have new cloth made of platinum.
    It is impossible to tell what color skin he may have had in the past,
    his skin is now caked with so many years of make-up,
    covering up the grime of his past struggle.
    All the while he wears a smile stitched across his face.

    But still, even if he may be repulsive,
    There is still a core inside him.
    A core from when he was a child,
    Full of dreams for the future,
    Full of innocence,
    One who has not been driven insane by this reality,
    The insanity of the current,
    America.