for all the things labeled  
in the exterior mirages
of turpentine reeking layers
worn lavishly by red lipstick
and silver tailored suits,

light illuminating marble counter tops
dusted by the next-thousand-block immigrant
the mother of four beautiful children
she clashes with the detriment of money

which filters back to champagne of that red lipstick,
the silver tailored suit a million floors above
encased within their own skeleton
they peel their skin so not to feel a thing

stuffed in a daycare tabooed because of its door handle
touched by mothers working wage to meet end's meet
children skipping their shoes
on the stains of the concrete underneath their feet
and not realizing a thing

the mother bustles through
alone but surrounded by grease
seething into the cracks of her heels
while her children grows by the tick
into the template configured by society

the smear of red lipstick
the wrinkle in the silver tailored suit
the system of trickle down economy
have gone down the throats of so many lives
as a diluted joker waving a flag sewn with white  

this age of decadence
chooses to blind its kin
reality has been remodeled
into a Hollywood basement