A tidal wave of sickly sweet, opiated syrup
Pours from the radio
And fills my
unwilling ears up.
With more
and more and more and more
Grovelling to
the crown.
This fawning
flow of obsequious deference rises
Until I fear
I’ll drown
Beneath an
ideological edifice
That I find
obscene.
Or maybe I’m
just jealous
That the
lottery of heredity
Did not see
fit to allot to me
The genes to
be the queen.
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