Busted

there is a junkie living within us all,

reaching out for just one more fix,

one more thrill,

the whole time wondering,

is this the big one,

the final overdose;

in the blackness of the eternal night,

she comes searching,

a tired, washed-up old hag,

staggering down broken city streets,

hideously exposed, pretentiously oblivious,

to the madness surrounding her,

her terror consumes you,

like some massive flood,

yet you wear this cloak of respectability well.

but it is never enough,

as you attempt to hide the dirty, filthy, little insect,

lurking inside;

professional prosecutors,

seek clean convictions,

in spite of innocence or guilt,

as corporate winds rage unmercifully,

against bullet proof glass;

so much living,

so little time;

you ain’t gonna beat

this rap.

.

.