Identity Crisis

This valley is so large
Feeling so lost,
Feeling who is
It really in
Them or me.
There are many
So the table
Of numbers
Are not balance
So well
I don’t care about
That I want to be well
Keep smelling
The odor of fire and brim stones
Wondering how close
I am to hell
I saw many of them fail
A secluded place
Particularly made
For us that
They call jail
Where the sunshine
Is very guarded
Where a name
Is traded for mere digits
While we all are being charted
How many would this beast
Ultimately eat
Insatiable appetite
Its belly never full
Inside or out
You could always
Feel mystically
How it pulls.
By  Deon Souldier Ballard

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