We are the flowers
of carnality
raised on Wonder Bread
and after thought.
We exist
only because
we’re forced to–
because dying
seems too messy.
We spray paint
prayers to God
on our walls of insanity
then drive back
to the lap of luxury.
We join rallies and unions
but won’t commit
with both feet inside the door.
We smell like perfume
and purchase Prada
and Porches in mass.
We work this
like it will all be gone tomorrow.
Breathing is optional.
