Private Hell

A soul starved of saving

Is ripe for the taking;

I’ll capture your heart

The moment you depart

From your sad empty life –

Husband, daughter or wife.

Your white picket fence

And the job it depends

Fill your life with but ash

As you scramble for cash.

As you scurry

And hurry

With nowhere to be,

Except here with me:

Down in my hollow

You’ll live out your sorrow;

A hell filled with routine –

All the places you’ve been:

Your work and your home,

Now at last set in stone.

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