Enslaved is a word I used to describe the whole entity of money. I'm not tied to a job, I can hardly be labelled as one in the rat race, but when nobody (of the poor) can even obtain something like extra space and a little piece of a life, and have to live like this...you're still a slave. Just a rebel slave, one that is spotted as one that won't align. I could build up such energies if I had a better life. And this isn't a life. It's a joke. A cruelty. And who would I even sell the dinar and the zim to? It's just really hurts how my dreams will never be. I'm a shell of what I once was. It's time for me to make an exit and I have one other who would go with me. But I can't ask that. And it's not fair to ask. I'm lost at sea and sinking. I'll never make it to shore.

You don’t have to ask...