Living the
dream was not a concept
It was his
lifestyle
Two Ferraris
and a Harley
Scotch with
caviar
A bungalow
in the Bahamas
And a
wonderful butler
Everyone who
was someone
Was on his
iPhone
They called
him invulnerable
But nobody
looked at his life
Parents
killed by a maniac
With rotting
yellow teeth
Growing up
alone
Lonely
No one
realized how alone he was
Hitting the
gym to keep aggression at bay
Slowly
drinking his sorrow away
And one day,
inevitably
The wolves
came
And wrote
about the billionaire
Found dead
in his bath tub
And we put
on those lying sunglasses
And were
judgemental gossips
Until such
time that he became a dusty newspaper
Covering a
homeless man
Sleeping on
a park bench
The Bilge Master
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