Prescription pills, stomach ills, and midnight chills.

We have become the carriers of our

Own burden.

Heroin wet dreams

Of heroin children

In heroin trees.

Born of these diseases and gestating

Within the soil,

We are the people that whimper.

Cockroaches of generation Rx.

The Bush bombs bury our serene

Surroundings until all that’s left is the


And we hold our titles with sick pride

For we have survived the breaking of the world.

A sad event it is, but necessary.

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