Factory Gates

The factory gates open
The whore spreads her legs
I don't want to enter
I have too much pride
I'm saving it for another day
Here I do not need
But the fruits are sweet
The fruits of my whore
But she is sick, she is weak
She is dying and I with her
She feels no pain, she is numb
Her arms are tracked
Another locomotive pulls in
She is high for eight hours
Sometimes ten
She never sleeps
Though I wish she would
I am so tired
Can not focus

by John Zeller

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