breaking ground—is this even a home?
the mold takes out my lungs, and the vines constrict the structure
how do we create anything when they are always taking?
and we're trapped, he has the power: our money, our comfort.
remove the slumlord, rip out the vines,
and plant something new in their graves?
it's no surprise to me, you are my own worst enemy.
'cause every now and then, you kick the living shit out of me.
please! please tell me why!