They can't hear you, mute one.
Their ears are clogged with the commotion of their worlds,
The sound of machines whirring out their life.

They can't see you, invisible one.
They see themselves bathed in power, fame, money.
You are blinded out by the stage floodlights as imaginary crowds of lifeless onlookers chant their names.

They can't feel you, numb one.
They only feel the rush of blood as they trample their way to the finish line.
Their feet rolling over every limb and bone of the unfit.

They can't love you, lonely one.
It's not their fault. They've been ****** into a vacuum that emits a stench of greed and rotten flesh. Even their tombstones had to outdo the rest.