Poetry Corruption

I feel angry at this corruption in this contry. I understand why it's here. But that does not help.

Money talks as corruption dines.
It�s worse than thrush,
This putrid seeping smell,
of gangrene in every societies limb

Thier�re scavenges of bloody greed,
forcing money�s rotting flesh
scooping out your brain from your ear

Or else they�ll own your body
force their way up your urethra tract,
Fucking you like no other.

Dead or alive it�s no difference,
By lieing still they come every time.
White skin, brown skin, woman in the middle.

Blank faces hanging on with limp arms,
The hangman�s not quite finished.
And till he is I�m wrenching this up.

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