December 3, 2023

Indigo

I might as well be dead,
I’m certainly not living.

This time clock life,
I barely see the sun,
Ow, the night is cold,
Looking at faces I’ve grown to know,
Fragile and old, they move so slow.

No, I don’t want to be them,
It’s so indecent, this indecent hour.

The people-pleaser,
Living an old poor rundown life.

I heard this woman sing about her king,
He is Vice President of nothing, 
Gladly, she shares her fairytale,
This is such a weird flex.