this life that drags us hither-thither,
and drives us amiss.
This world is poorly wrought;
shaped by hateful hands,
that beat us into weapons or slag,
and what is there for the tranny/fag?
We will always be useful or waste,
that caters to the taste,
of the powerful and great,
or spat out, segregate –
useless to industry or patriarchy,
and where do we sleep?
What can we eat?
What is good for us?
but cold floors,
and street corners,
or prison cells,
places that society has decided,
it is most suitable for us to die.