Your country disintegrates. You arrived at the tail end of a dream, and now it is devolving into a dystopian farce of regressive forces. Hope abandons like rats on a sinking ship: last, but eventually. My arm burns from so many hours locked into a new industrial prison, this was not the freedom the poets imagined. The bodies ache from disillusionment.
The pain is unsustainable. You know this.
But it is hard to find escape routes
that do not look so much like parachutes
refusing to open.
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