Sacked
Every day she bears bad news,
Uncrystallises diamonds to mere millstones,
Their stratospheric hopes and starlight souls,
Wane and fade with every passing moment.
Almost sociopathic, she’s euphoric in her serenity,
Taking pleasure in our pain like an esteemed artist etching the scars we bear.
Every night, she rides her bicycle,
Braving thunderstorms of her own kindness,
Battling sleep and wishing to be reborn,
Like a phoenix rising from the abyss.
But these are our assumptions, the lies we tell ourselves,
To stay on a path trodden by billions,
To toil for the sake of a meal,
We cut our wings, and skin our souls.
