Behind The Stigma

These brittle little cogs

In the delusional machine

Have left the future

Far behind them

To drown in hails

Of primal screams

What of their youth?

What of their dreams?

What of the stigma

They create

With their ignorance and folly

And their whiny little traits

Just let them run

Towards the cliff

Let them believe

That they can fly

And the future maybe saved

From this breed of breathing lies

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