My society is suicidal
It drinks itself stupid
Bashes its lungs with cigarettes.
It wants to die, not I.
Society is pashing itself
As it’s bashing itself.
Society holds itself down
And calls its lover a bitch.
Society is mostly misogynist.
Society is a prostitute
That doesn’t use protection
Writhing in pain with infections
While aborting its 1000th foetus.
I don’t have any choice
About my society invading me.
It is an animal that cannot
Be kept at bay by Buddhism,
Pesticides, or cleaning.
Society needs beauty
But it thinks it can manufacture it,
It thinks it can mine it,
It thinks it can buy it.
Society wants to be strong,
But it also wants to be ill
In hope it can get compassion.
Society wants to fuck me up the arse
And force me to say I enjoy it,
But I tell it to go away.
My society doesn’t like hard work,
It would rather swallow tranquilisers
And be a laboratory animal.
I want to be healthy
But my society forces unhealthy things into me
Falsely labelling them as ‘good’ and ‘helpful’,
‘Healthy’ and ‘necessary.’
I am very angry at my society
Because it has violated my body repeatedly,
Then accused me of being insane and complaining.
My society is insane. It eats chemical shit that isn’t
food
Then expects me to do the same.
My society is hypnotised by propaganda.
I am at war with its regime.
My society wants to die,
Obviously, it is suicidal
And in need of some kind of help.
My society evicts those who ask for help
And asks other societies to do something
About people who ask for help.
My society thinks people who ask for help
With shelter and food are a problem,
Even when they say they’ll work hard
To repay those who help them.
My society fucks me up
Then tells me I’m wrong and weird.
My society is a slave-driver of mothers,
My society rapes its own children.
That’s my society.
Chewing gum on the pavement
And a gun stuck in my face.
I should probably try to get
To a safer place than this,
Where my ideas exist more
Than this place where society is its own looming death.
My society bashes me, but rarely pashes me.
It says that that is my fault, not society’s,
That I need to be more commercial,
More like others who’ve been successful,
That there’s nothing new worth anything,
Because society prefers the retro, the proven,
The tried and true, antique glossed anew.
Society says I shouldn’t resent it,
Yet it resents giving
Odd people like me anything.
Society says that I’m bludging.
Society says I suck it dry.
Society, it seems would rather
That I die, than pay a living wage for my work
In developing ways to help it.
Society says that I’m a radical
That needs to be ruled out.
Society doesn’t even know me,
But it knows it doesn’t like me.
Society won’t give me a change,
It’d rather play reruns
Of Woody Allen movies
And upset survivors of child abuse.
My society won’t even acknowledge
That I’ve been harmed by psychiatry,
Let alone allow me to say that
On a public broadcast program.
My society is very interested in money,
But it makes suicidal investments
In ideas that have had their day.
My society has an unhealthy interest
In aiding and abetting crime,
Then glorifying it in books and movies.
My society wants to endanger itself.
My society is a sadomasochist.
My society wants to suicide.
My society doesn’t include me
In its pact, because
I don’t want to live fast
Die young and make an etcetera.
My society says I won’t be successful
If I don’t follow in its footsteps.
But I don’t want to follow dysfunction,
So I go in a different direction.
My society wants me to pay entry
Then it bars me from entering.
My society says I’m a jealous gripe
And an ego-head better off dead.
My society would not mourn me
If I were to suicide.
My society would want to dissect my brain
For evidence of a faulty gene,
Faulty neurotransmitters, or something like what
They found in the tortured rats
Who society induced my ‘condition’ in.
My society has one condition
And many exceptions to that rule,
With loopholes to get past a fool
Like me who sticks to laws as rule,
Except when they violate the rights
Of people they’re claiming to protect.
My society likes to pick on me,
Then it eats its own snot
And demands I eat it too!
My society thinks I should take
The blame for my ‘illness’
But I don’t think I have an illness,
Rather it’s society’s ills that
Cause me unrest and put me in crisis.
Society has its regime
And I am revolting to it.
I want to love my society
But it pushes me away
Saying, ‘You’d better not stalk me.’
I’d like society to be more
Interested in what I think and say,
But society wants to remain ignorant,
Turns its back and ignores me.
It says I don’t try hard enough
To get its attention.
Then it says I try too hard
And that makes me annoying.
Society won’t let me win,
Society thinks I’m nothing but
A bad impression
My society wants to kill me,
So I don’t make it think about its problems,
About it being wrong, thereby inducing suicidal thoughts.
Yet my society claims to be peace-keeping.
Society says it doesn’t want to die out,
Yet it smokes purposefully
To slowly kill itself.
My society is addicted to causing
Its own death, but it says it doesn’t want
To suicide, not really, it just does sort of likes harming
itself.
My society wants to fuck me up
So it feels better about itself,
So I’m as fucked up as it is.
My society wants to scream for its mother,
Then blame her for birthing it.
My society wants to yell at me
And is annoyed when I don’t yell,
Accuses me of making it look like a bully,
When really it’s a suicidal wreck I should
Have more empathy for, apparently.
Then my society finds another reason
To punch me in the nose
When I say I don’t like drugs.
My society thinks drugs are cool.
My society thinks drugs are pop culture
And that popping pills equates to pop art,
As if swallowing is an artistic act.
My society is heavily drugged
But I don’t know how good my society is,
I take it for granted,
I’m spoilt rotten.
I don’t know how bad some societies are!
I don’t want to think about
How I’m fucked up the arse I am
By my society anymore.
I want society to stop perpetuating
Its abuse of me when it lords over me.
My society thinks it’s regal
And that I’m up myself.
My society thinks it is a cut above the rest.
My society likes to be a gangster’s gun
Shooting into a crowd.
I think my society is aiming at me,
But it doesn’t even know me,
Or want to know what I’ve done,
Where I’ve been and what I’m up to.
My society turns the gun on itself
And threatens suicide
If I don’t follow its command.
But I don’t know how good my society is,
I take it for granted,
I’m spoilt rotten.
I don’t know how bad some societies are!
My society wants to be Helen of Troy,
Then complains about the attention
That it sought out, when it advertised
Itself as ‘The face that launches a thousand ships.’
My society is stale old theatre farts
That expects to get more funding.
My society tries to pretend
That it has never threatened me.
My society wants to say that I am a liar.
My society doesn’t know that it’s lying.
My society wants to die and go to Heaven,
It wants to escape the Hell of itself.
My society thinks it’s my superior.
My society enjoys substance abuse
And thinks I’m uncool not to do so,
That I should get with it and just try it
And realise it’s not as bad as I think,
That it’ll make me better, make me fit in.
My society won’t give me a role
Because I won’t smoke backstage with it.
My society is slowly killing itself
And expects me to join it.
My society says I should stop resenting it.
My society would like to kill itself
And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
But I don’t know how good my society is,
I take it for granted,
I’m spoilt rotten.
I don’t know how bad some societies are!
I’m laughing at my society.
I feel superior to my society.
My society is the delusional underdog
That has to be cautious
And wary of its direction.
It’s the one that’s suicidal, not me.
My society once tried to accuse me
Of things that it had done,
But I’m no longer under its thumb
And if it expects me to play dumb
While it talks rubbish,
It’ll soon learn to stop
Digging its own grave.
I know society is suicidal,
But it should at least behave
Civilly to those who are
Trying to help it through its crisis.
But my society isn’t happy,
It wants to dye its hair
Until the hair snaps off at the roots.
My society hates its own scent and wants to hide its
smell
By putting toxic chemicals under its arm pits
That give allergies and asthma attacks.
My society doesn’t like anything natural,
Wants to remove all its body hair so it
Feels like newborn baby skin.
My society thinks I’m weird
To not want to feel like a baby.
But I don’t know how good my society is,
I take it for granted,
I’m spoilt rotten.
I don’t know how bad some societies are!
It is hard when your society
Has done something horrible
To you and they still
Want to argue that it’s justified.
It’s hard to love your people
That went along with your society.
It’s really hard to love them totally.
I mean, you can’t, can you?
Not without lying to yourself
That they will back you up
If you were attacked again,
Which they won’t
And you know that.
But you have to love them,
Because they’re your family,
They’re your society
And that abuse that they ignored
Was too widely condoned
By even people you wanted to be friends with.
It’s hard that, looking at them
And what they’ve done by condoning,
Ignoring, or being too frightened to speak up against.
My society is so guilty,
It’s horrible, so horrible.
They’d rather have the abuses continue
Than admit to their wrong doings.
I so want to love my society,
But it’s hard, knowing
The horrible things they’ve done.
I look in the face of my society
And see that enemy lurking.
It’s scary that it’s there
In something I’d otherwise
Want to praise and adore.
It’s a shock to realise
That my society is so against me.
That it thinks I should be tortured.
It is scary when I hear of it being agreed upon
On radio, documented on television
And proliferated in books.
My body ices in fear,
That’s what my society does to me.
Scary don’t you think,
The way my society wants to kill itself?
But I don’t know how good my society is,
I take it for granted,
I’m spoilt rotten.
I don’t know how bad some societies are!
Nay, it is very, very scary that my society
Has swallowed propaganda for so long.
It bloats with its fill
Unable to think of possibility
That challenges the horror,
Unable to think of the horror,
For what it actually is.
Subdued and hypnotised,
My society heil psychiatry
And call for more screenings of youth,
More tests of youths and marching orders,
To find anomalies in them and root them out,
Force on them sterilising pills so they won’t breed,
And won’t be able to complain because they’re so
tranquilised.
My society wants to become a race,
A supreme race of psychiatrists.
My society knows no one wants to protest against
What can be diagnose and dehumanise them
And make them out to be a potential criminal
That must be monitored and managed
And is unfit to be heard
In the clairvoyant psych court
That aims to prove a future violation
That a person might just commit.
In my society, no one wants that life sentence,
Which my society’s superstitious inflict,
When they back up psychiatry
With their supremacist’s law.
Strangely, most abide by society’s superstitious.
See, my society wants mind control, like Jonestown,
Heaven’s Gate and Solar Temple.
My society wants people who will,
Do as they are ordered and die on command.
My society wants to die under its own control,
Ordering itself into oblivion of following its following.
But I don’t know how good my society is,
I take it for granted,
I’m spoilt rotten.
I don’t know how bad some societies are!
I have a major beef with my society.
For over forty years my society has been
Arguing against what I do,
Trying to get me to sign its suicide pact.
Now I’m finally taking issue
And telling my society that I’ve had enough
Of its polluting fashions
It’s been policing me with.
I’ve had enough of its attempts
To make me feel small.
I’ve had enough of its thick
Doorless brick walls!
But society is the one with the gun
And if it points that thing at me
I guess I’ll want to save my life
By doing exactly as I am told.
Society would like to live
Without ever having to suffer,
But it thinks it needs to cause
Suffering to stop suffering.
My society is an abusive relationship
That I can’t get out of.
My society wants to use me,
Then treat me like a dirty tissue.
My society is the cross between
A baby, a stationary motor car
And a domestic outburst.
My society isn’t going to exist anymore,
As it once did. It will evolve eventually,
When people stop think that society's suicidal urges
Are something to be venerated and followed.
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