W.B. Mad

Rookie (Indianapolis, Indiana)

Number Faces

Little lies smashed into faces that I pass everyday.
Faces that are tired of all the pain.
Faces that cant stand the numbness anymore.
All the numbers pushed thin into tiny little file folders.
Peoples souls you see cant be held with the forewalls of manilla madness.
WHY? WHY? WHY?
Why do you keep shoving our souls and hearts into tight laced marching statistics.
Rowed, lined, and set down.
F your rules. No longer will I!

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