Vultures

Vultures

It’s something extra awful

When you can’t even figure out

Who’s lying to you anymore.

And you can’t even catch

A break to straighten out

Your own head.

They’ll use you up until

There’s nothing left to squeeze,

And then pick at the carcass

Until all that is left

Is your bones.

And then, then

They will find some use

For those too.

I once read that the poor class

Has consistently throughout history

Liked to drink and fuck

For recreation.  Squandering

Their pennies for cheap thrills

And keeping themselves down.

We drink to numb the pain

You have pushed on our bodies.

We drink because it is sometimes

The only way we can wake up

In the morning

And bring ourselves to serve you

Once more.

Smoke your cigars and poke and prod

And make fun of us all you’d like.

There’s no pride left to hurt anyway.

Nothing behind our eyes but sadness.

And for fucking?

Well, even us poor need to have fun once in a while…