it doesn’t matter
where or how well-off you are:
we’re all trapped
the poor
the middle-class
the rich
in the city, the suburbs, the country
in the city the horrors
happen openly in the streets
in the suburbs
they happen behind closed doors
as we
come outside to smile on our
sidewalks
that are surrounded by invisible bars
in the mansions
they tremble in paranoia
with people after their money
or coke up their nose
and ex-wife lawsuits
for half their materials
the poor don’t care enough to fake a smile
the middle-class will do anything they can
to not seem unhappy
the rich just take it out on those below themselves
behind our white-picket fences and well-mowed lawns
we’re popping pills, putting needles in our arms,
beating our wives and children
with our fists and our words
the poor want to be rich
the middle-class don’t want to be poor
and the rich sometimes wish
they didn’t have money or fame
different horrors have their way
of clawing at you
in multiple forms
in all
environments
none of us can escape
the immensity of existence,
the cage that is our lives.
we’re not entitled to anything
and “the
pursuit of happiness”
that we all have
sought and
were guaranteed is
one
big
fucking
lie
so as you see the old lady across
the street
watering her plants
know this:
she’ll probably
slit your throat
and bury you
in her
garden.