, , ,

This is a modest conglomeration of petty things,
Bounded into steady darkness, shallow rings of gold.
We see the angels in despair singing, “Why are you still
Falling?” Why are you falling?
You’ve been taking everything for granted
Grabbing on to things out of habit,
Encroaching on soceity, stealing our sobriety
You hoard all the decency,
Hide it behind attic balconies
Trapped away from the gaze of society.