January 11, 2022
This city is a virtue signal.
Smudging away the truths.
False coffers overflow streets.
With the midnight skin wandering through
It doesn’t get easy seeing the stares.
Overlooking ones that need a hand.
Instead of bones brandished out.
Warmth should be no problem to give
No worry is found up top.
Lies of the suit, double seamed.
Numbers move in favour of the coin.
That buys guilt in spades
Built on blood of the poor.
Sinew noise emanate beneath feet.
Nails crushed and cracked to nothing.
No recollection seen to the matter
Eyes glaze to self worth.
Numbers dulled to pacify.
Dulling to sleep of restrained regret.
Bubbles scoffed to free pain
Eyes darting for recognition.
Hands broken from the remarks.
Dried until invisible and feared.
Coppered clinks to fend off
Words tempered to one narrative.
Brushed under the carpet again.
Filed away in a dusty cabinet.
No paper cuts cared for, only ink to wipe away
Gloried paper wanted for simple acts.
Kindness strung with pay-check in mind.
Camera strewn facades clipped for view.
Vying for the shares and digital masturbation
Care not needed if no progression exists.
Never for one day to give self love.
Continued struggle carries on the next day.
Unless you forget to do the part
A city of dulled numbers begging to live.
Caring for the papered mask.
Its tent shell will rip in the end.
From masses tackling for change