Your Dour Gray Suit

Today we got the news like something pushing at some imaginary belt line slowly waiting to be excavated
She will be leaving us soon
And I've heard the story all too many times and sang the song myself far too many times
and I've no time left in my day to roam on the quiet shores alone and in my world
I've no time left in my day to kiss these so called wounds nor the ass of some weakling whore
I've no time today to fall asleep at this here blue screen I've no time today to follow my song or sing my dream
I cut tomatoes into my salad as I trudge through the sludge and I keep hearing the echoes of fear which are far too real but hold us imprisoned to an impoverished system that is material and empty
and I hear these voices far too clear and far too loud and I hear their cries trying so hard to bring us down
to keep us down
and hold us down
despite the sweat dripping down our faces and the blood bleeding out of our guts
despite the tears gripping our souls like shoe laces and the spit on our clothes stuck
from the anger you've leashed on us, because you're grasping for survival
all of it masked by the new ones' arrival
focus our energy here, focus our energy there, but at the end of the day everyone knows how dirty is your underwear, your laundry your sock drawer
overflowing with tathered toes you are unwilling to retire.

My dress laced with leather doused with feathers fitted and measured will never fit your dour gray suit.