(dissociative) fugue

We're at our best with wills repressed
It's most clear when our eyes are closed
The patterns in their scarves emerge
We scream out loud, but silence keeps our dirge

Fluorescent hell, cast your spell
The toxins that keep us in line
Twenty and six for the night
Weakly we whine, numbness our birthright

My head swims, no one wins
The traitors who fight for the clean
They only show up at the wrecks
Benzopyrene keeps our code in check

We chant our rhymes, we rant at time
With lungs marred by years of abuse
Aluminum pills down the chute
They found our use, purpose built and mute

The strophic form, of children torn
Repeats till an ending is near
The grip then relaxes to find
A tighter hold, fear chokes all of our kind.