My mental illness is being fabricated and I know I am being manipulated I will now be under life-long prod and probe to make me vulnerable to whomsoever’s loathe You can guess, I have, now, added shackles as if, a lifelong straitjacket, I didn’t tackle Does the Supreme see that these politicians’ self-serving acts areContinue reading “My mental illness is being fabricated: A poem”
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Hey Albanese, how low can you be!: A poem
I can see they are giving me tablets of fish oil Oh! How my heart and soul recoils! And I know I’ll be in the madhouse till after the twentieth For which evil fish to get its length and breadth? Donald Trump, do you really care that, because of your aspirations, I am laid bare?Continue reading “Hey Albanese, how low can you be!: A poem”