He framed only twelve lines, each syllable counted.
Precise. Just exactly what he wanted to say.
The pain, carefully measured, evenly sounded.
Cold logic, rationale, all and none were betrayed:
“No one cares, none will notice, no one notices.
We all hide behind the thin veneer of caring,
But it’s all talk, the empty words everyone says.
Life, and driving, are all about ‘me first,’ daring
To be first, forgetting those who are left behind,
Who ask for help, and are given barely enough.
Work the hours at the jobs we are able to find.
I tried, failed, and found my life filled with useless stuff,
Broken, used, tatty things, no treasures. Just like me.
Money answers everything, but it’s whispering.
When I need a hurricane, I get a soft breeze.
Because nothing, not even me, is worth repairing.”