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.

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