I'm a rich kid,

grown in the suburbs,

lost then found in life,

collected on this never ending circus tour,

where is my pride, my faiths contour,

 

lost as his mother screams,

as the apartment breaks,

the riches turn to rags and back to riches,

all for the fathers passion that turned to inhibition,

 

i live in suburbia,

a hated grace that one would feelgreatful for,

but suicide dreams and fields of green ask me if all of this,

was worth it to be seen,

 

I see children expressing for money,

I see my father crying in heaven,

i see the disbelief carrying me from one room to the next,

only to fake one last test and be on with the rest,

 

to resolve into silence,

not speak about the tenement across the street,

where the aging arithmetic gangsters fall to sleep,

public life brought to this,

all because they were not rich.

 

the shame I feel,

here today,

hoping for more,

to find a way.