money.

shaking from recent
mistakes
crimes commited in the heat
of lies
back to haunt me
ghosts, faces
my mind goes
like a finger to a wound
pressing in
on convenient pain
paying in blood what
only the tender can sustain
what is this life worth
not flesh
but paper and cloth woven
into intricate designs
surrounded by the answer
I touch it everyday
mocking my circumstance
self loathing
while I watch my wasted life
go by