Endless Poem by Kid of Los Angeles

Living amongst the webs
crawling, falling, starving for lies.
Truth serves as the venom for certain death,
slowly bleeding soul onto your square inch of pavement.
Walked on by the passerby of society,
spit on by the feuding top hats who enjoy your very oppression.

What is there to do,
what is there to say,
when the very people entitled to your love are the first applicants to twist the dagger.

Armies of obligations follow behind,
lurking around every corner,
trying to withstand, endure, prolong.

There is no survival, no escape.
Only a concealed whisper as you fall into the inevitable pit of oblivion.
A name is a number.
A sly reference to the wasted existence you once occupied.

When will the fall end.
How much lower can one be grounded into rock bottom.
A bottom beyond a bottom.

Down the hole with a cold embrace and a helpful shove,
If only we could forget, that there is no above.