Even my infinite well of creativity;
Is drying up.
Shackled by Capitalism.
Ruined by corruption.
The well is tainted.
Poisoned,
Filled with rot.
The sweet,
Sour smells of decay.
Bring out your knives,
Then.
I’ll defend this bastion,
Until the end.
Choosing to fight for expression,
Despite sabotage.
The Well Is Tainted.
