I knew him by the wave of his cigarette
One corner turned up in a smile
George Clooney voice
"Liberal little ****" he says
I laugh and tell him he's not open-minded
He's had enough of my thoughts
Carved from the same canister
You'd pick up anything you like
An ******* for sure
The furrowed brow and gaze
We don't give a **** what people think
It's in the way he leans back in his chair
Tells me to hurry late at night
Lifts me over the ledge
I knew when he said "Come here"
Just how far I'd go with him
After a hard day, longing
for comfort and empathy
I adore and slander
the radiant life
of the Stars, the elite
above the Beautiful World
Away with the whining
of necessity, reason
Away with that low elite
in the shadow of my life
who says to know it all
so well and explains to me
with far too many words
that there is more
then entertainment and wealth
away with being difficult
which doesn't buy me anything
certainly not happiness
because I am not as rich
as I make the Stars
Stars shine above the Beautiful World (“Le Beau Monde”) of the economic elite's High Society
Collection “Lilith's Powers” # 58
Her love was too big for his man
"She is a masterpiece" he stated
Out of all the women he loved
She was the elite
She was the paint in his canvas
They look good together
They make art together
But things were hard
The pain was there
The paint was washed out
through the canvas
She left, carrying all the colors
And the canvas was left waiting
"We had our time"
surrounding us with a fantasy
we are told is reality
controlled by the elite
Have you seen the Master Magician around lately?
He who shows you a mirror with his right hand
While he picks your pocket with his left hand
He whose tongue tells you tales of a bogeyman
As his eyes induce you to part with your keys
He who wears the most beautiful of masks
To hide the psychopath that lurks within
Have you seen this Master Magician around lately?
He who will empty your pockets and ask for more
He who will become the master of your home
He who will convince you: *“its all for your own good!”
All of you.
Where do you get off
making a name for yourself
out of the mockery
in fallen heroes’ hearts?
What’s in a name;
that which we call
by another label
would be found on the front page
of the obituaries.
Where do you go from
looking down on those you
trampled on the way
with some false sense of humility?
How we perceive you now
is like that of a a crime lord;
Might as well
call it a day
and take note of the
that is fame and fortune.
I hear your words through the confusion of the bubblegum jungle
Exploding and annoying syllables layered helplessly on the walls of graffiti infused concrete trees
The Rush St. preachers wailing sounds
of the end of world
"The apocalypse is coming, GOD be with y..."
Abruptly interrupted by another city ant walking by..
"Go to hell, you *******!!"
The preacher whispers to himself
"May God have mercy on his soul, Amen"
White City elites with turned up noses
on their Michigan Ave stroll
"Snobs" central passing by the homeless
as they whisper for change
sitting next to their leaky cardboard mansions
******* clad ladies of night
selling their *** to married men,
to whom are seeking to expel their worries
between the legs of the fallen
"Take that harder, harder"
Echoes of moans from the alley way
Cash for a minute of pleasure and gone
This bubblegum jungle will chew you up and spit you out
It doesn't seek retribution
It's only seeks hunger
Feeding off the weak and nimble
Leaving your bones on the bent and deserted sidewalks of the White City
The codgers devoid of sane be born, also men with no power.
But They stay to collude, In the tangible mainlands of man,
old world demise.
In a new world disguise.
You hide behind your primary colours worth billions of dollars.
While the ordinary man live a life serving for paper, fighting your wars.