there are bodies on the street
with alleyway homes and crooked teeth
their itchy stares cut through rain and stick on me
they are wavering somewhere between desperation and apathy
and i’m out of my head because i see their disruption in me

there is a crisis of coldness flooding big cities
there is a crisis of avoidance and a crisis of indulgence
and it’s typing people to anchors and making them sink

i must confess that i’ve glamorized my sadness
and look where that’s gotten me
the death drive has a hold
on the rich, the poor, and the in-between
fixated on an after-life that will never be
or crazed by a substance to bring them to their knees
this city is an ocean of people divided

but dying from the same ******* thing

-k.p.-