Time ticks down as we gouge,
burn, eat and smear this planet,
all the while avoiding eye-contact
as we line our graves with cash
for a soft and pointless landing

Standing knee-deep already
on a rented doorstep
the next in line rightfully curse us
as the fat get fatter, fit to burst,
but never fit for purpose

It costs to live
we know this
but the currency is ours to spend

We should be livid at those
who pretend to care
espouse our best interests
but then push us
to be batteries for a
busted machine

Remember their fat faces
when we’re clear
their arch indifference
and disdain, for once,
for our fear

When they return again
to using our dreads
against us

remember