A Cold Life.

Walk these lonely roads of concrete and asphalt,
see the ones who suffer stroll beside those at fault.

“Come here,” they say, “where parties never end,”
drink deeply from a wealthy stream which doesn’t bend.

You run towards decay masked by glowing lights,
forgetting, in your waking hours, their ongoing fights.

Hundreds cry, thousands weep, dozens die,
while nobody cares to ask: “Why?”

Calendars flip or fall as years pass,
bloody wars stain heroes for gallon gas.

Time twists youthful frames into withered husk,
failing eyes blindly bet on seeing unending dusk.

Life, wasted before flattened screens mixed inside alcohol gleams,
ending every day, without finding home, betwixt dying dreams.

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