lines and lines of cars
frozen on the 405:
LA's red light district.
we prositute our wallets to gas
to pay for cars and gridlock.
we prositute our minds to
hollywood, books of faces,
to fill our need to be heard
in a virtual world
dying of noise overpollution.
we prostitute our souls
to every quick-fix
snake oil salesman,
good hands self-declared
that swears it'll fix the loneliness,
does anyone hear our crying late alone?
does anyone see the bruises from the last customer?
does anybody know the anguish of our souls?
does anybody care about the ropes hanging
from every ceiling
in LA's red light district?
will anybody save us?
© Copyright 2016 Iskah E Shirah. All rights reserved.
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