Hand Me Complaints Please

At a desk with pen in hand, your guts spilled for profit
A product through your motives through experience
Of self worth the benefit of another
You and your popular politics, popular mechanics of a class war
Don’t call me a politician
I do not lie
Poverty is only the balance of wealth
You do not know me
Because you will never know me
And you shun me
Stab me, stab me repeatedly
My eyes are falling out
And they are replaced with
And they are replaced with
Black marbles
And now I am you
Now I am you