You come along to collect money, and sympathy.

Propped up like a puppet; a desperate sales force.

There is commerce in loneliness.

 

You sit there, solo, the way I do.

Even among all those people,

you are still alone.

 

Blocks of blank spaces fill the ground,

paving a path that may lead

to your salvation.

 

Daddy didn’t prepare you for this day.

Winter coats worn by most

as you sat there – limbs exposed.

 

Paint peels off the wall and floats

away, the way the smile

fades into your cheeks.

 

A hatbox full of coins

could never fill your void.

You come along because you have no choice.

 

 

 

 

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