self pity n’ stuff

We judge celebrity gowns as we sleep on dirty mattresses, waiting for our eviction notices.

Fortune favors the bold

Well, the rich

And I suppose the lower class

The pivot point of two ends

The working class,

Just rich enough to make it

Just poor enough to starve

I suppose, maybe im jealous

But yet, it would strip me of my identity

Without the world to beat me to a pulp,

I wouldn’t have enough bruises to blend in