Poor man speaks like diamonds are found in his autumn
He sits in silence with his mind retched forest casual bottom
Picks a stick inside the wild arena passive juggling what wrought him
Dives into the trash, cupcakes or old fish, never learning what taught him
She drives so fast in her silver laser bold sunglassed car
A smirk behind those rims of black, top down peeling tar
While along the road a selfish shimmer reflects the boiling star
Veered on the curve to late, her greed was thrown but not too far
Observing the writhing moments in paths of similar fate
Before the moments construct these motions we create
We’ve been at laughter and sadness in our wanton debate
See softly the callousness mimicked in our mindless state
Are we old fish or cupcakes?

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