the world outside has a sheet of quiet
floating down on top of it.
the world we have created for ourselves
is small,
and temporary,
but it is *ours.

broken words and wilting bodies,
that's us, a messy generation of
glassy eyes and bulletproof souls.

i've never let go of your hand, even when you don't have the strength to hold mine

I sold my soul
For a parking space
Mama told me not to
But I let it slip away

She died
Of the broken heart I gave her
Because I stopped calling
I stopped loving her

My love was for money
The quest to acquire
More
I live in a sea of amenities
Endless luxury and toys
But I don't know what fun is anymore

I climbed the stairs of success
Stepping on backs as I went
Leaving friends behind
Never looking back
I traded my best friend in
For a Lamborghini

Trophy wife
But I sleep with my secretary
Because she doesn't ask questions
Trophy children
But I've missed most of their birthdays
All they care about is money too
The shadow I cast shrouds their innocence
And one day
They will be me

I sold my soul for a parking space