ꕥꕥꕥ DROSS ꕥꕥꕥ
Stones and glass pierce my naked flesh. Poverty is the closest we can come to a natural state. Luxuries, made by others, rubber tires rolling down the street which burns our unshod souls.
Beaten, starved, refused, unsheltered and rejected roughly by every gaze despite our human privilege.
Yet to force bred infants born so poor they are dragged off to death, their mothers, not even entitled to their own milk which flows like tears from their tortured teats, we are all are wealthy wicked warlords.