I Am Not

Wake up, get rigged, work, buy, Pay taxes, get snatched, service, die. "What are you?" — Middle class. "No thank you, you don't appear in my glass. Ok, still, let's try... what religion? Get out, 'cause you're not "this one." Someone else asks, "What race, caste, origin, language?" "Get killed and wrecked; you don’t fit our lineage." Go to the police, say you are hurt, But, "You're just a privileged butthurt." Let’s approach the courts—they must listen, But they brand culprits innocent, with currency-stacked constitution. What about the administrators? Easier; they just ask for "transactions under the table." Okay, I am dying; at least I’ll be saved by doctors, Lose all your belongings, get in a month-long queue for fillers. "So these tests and medicines will do, I believe you'll need extra credit too." And if they don't work, it's not them to blame— You delayed the fee too much in credit's name. Where are humans? Where is reason? What is the worth of my life? What is treason? Why must I bear the expenses for the upliftment of the poor? Why must I pay for the rich to buy more souvenirs? Why must I invest for politicians to kill me? Why must I study so much for law and constitution to fill me? When I am just a cheque number in the doctor's diary, Ranks and seniority decided based on bribery. I wonder if I am even here. I better not, I better not. I really wish sometimes, I was not born. I was not born.