I wonder if it was worth it in the end.
Working vendor, out on a stand.
Lost to a crowd that forgot my name.
Dark to the light that lay beyond their shoulders.
Seeking a sunset, fading out to tones of dust.
In an attic I’m too afraid to open.
Where I can’t break pace or lose stride.
Even if my heart begs me to stop.
Breaking the dimes and cents to my name.
To buy a little bag to breathe.
Cubicle to walk in and work.
A wall to hold against the tides.
A number on bloodstone paid to win
one little ticket. From a carnival game.
Fed, to shoot another enemy.
To win a toy, for a kid down the street.
Who lives in a box, with no food.
Near a meadow of greener grass.
On red poppies in sadder lands.
Resting with little butterflies in the dark.
Written by Haran Thirumeni and edited by Emily Chan. Published on 15/10/23. Header image by Cindy Zhang.