I'll Ask How High

My bones crunch under the uncommon denominator.
The government of the people, for the people, by the people represented by the egotistical elitists.
My blood pumps into the machine, it shaves me
Using my wool for its irredeemable taxable poll
As I crumble under the weight of loans to the tones of self-loathing moans.
They caudle us with bullet proof vests as the beat and tear us down with candy coated bullets.
A color coded shell around my face.
They cracked the Liberty Bell
They carved the sad statue
They mocked the names carved proudly on the wall
The names of men who took a bullet in their spinal cord while back home a nurse cut their child’s umbilical cord.

They remove their blazers, revealing themselves.
Standing over an army of sheep, they grin, gripping their ties attached to their collars, framing their square sharp skulls, a house for manipulative residents who don’t bother wiping their feet on the doormat of common courtesy.

I exit the machine
My wool stripped and folded.
Posture perfect, eyes forward.
Tell me to jump.
Tell me to kill.
Tell me to die.