2020

I see multitudes of the masses misplaced, fast paced souls who choose, status and chase.

Lasses with lace lingerie, like young girls who fornicate, and flaunt their frames.

In the twilight, my dreams of fame and my shame are one the same, my moniker, to cover my face.

As I chase smoke rings they’re used to cover the taste of bittnerness, encloaked by these bricks, shit, these little kids, trying to be men. It’s belittling disguising as them. Surviving these trends, these fashions and fads.

Rations, cash and passions run low in this life, time it’s pay as you go, a picture perfect image of street lights and little black cabs.

The feel of money, like dust as slips from your clutch. With a stick in my hand I write my script in the dirt. Because my word of lip is my worth. Thirty first of the first, calendar date of my birth.

Curse or blessing? Either way, just a number or second, unnoticed yet noted and processed. A king yet I’m stuck, checked in a square.

Hard pressed for luck, don’t even dare look errors, brand wearers and new waves of terror.

Young and old, moulded by mass media, financial predictions, so lost are the children they’re captivated by fiction.

Closed eyed civilians, big bosses are raking up billions in sky scraping buildings.

While the truth is packaged and drilled in.