Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god


The stale crunch of hate beneath my feet,
I follow the demons to the promise land
Expecting the ease of sleep.
In the clear black night, I am engulfed
In the gleam of rigged conformity.
The jargon is confusing, but I am to put on
A face of blankness, and carry on like a worker bee
When clearly I was made to be queen.


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