MUD

MUD
My name is Trash – call me MUD for short.
I only wish that I could mentally transport.
Many have found ways to abuse me to become rich.
Some have been murdered and found in a ditch.
The drive within them is more valuable than gold.
Many of us have been sold.
There are no use for schoolbooks.
We have to maintain our looks.
No time to be a bore.
They have turned me into a whore.
They will keep me out of reach.
The drive within is nothing to teach.
Many patrons have been evicted.
They are seriously addicted.
They will use you against your will.
If you resist, they will kill.
They will hang some from a tree.
There is no use you will never be free.
Many patrons are no hero.
Will make sure you stay at zero.
Shooting and stabbing pains is a common affair.
I only wished upon a prayer.
There is nothing you can do.
They own you.
They will tie you so they can straddle.
Not even a saddle.
You will never be well.
You are living in hell!

BY CHRISTINA LONG