Hong Kong

Oh she doesn't love me

this place has turned wicked

making me earn chips

making me burn bridges

we eat it every single day but never think about the slaughterhouse

Cracks in the curbs

murals on the walls

the temporary tats on Tijuana's vibrant halls

grown men beg day after day

while we drown ourselves in a superficial slime

La policia commits the heaviest crime

corruption infests the streets

cockroaches and hypodermic needles crawl at your feet

time goes on and the weak remain voiceless

children born to the south go choiceless 



Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741