Chipping

Warped champagne flutes and crumbling columns

Chipped white paint and wine-stained curtains

The aesthetics fade and the only thing left is you

You can’t take it with you

You try to paint over the dark circles under your eyes

But they remain

No matter how much you tint the windows on your Mercedes you still see the scraps under your feet

And no sunglasses can tint the cardboard signs

“Hungry, John 3:16” burned into your mind

The paint will chip and melt and sliiiiiiiiide down

And each crack will become unmistakable

Until you must release the chains that your apathy has bound

Until you must look their vulnerability in the eye

And recognize the commonality that no check can write away

This poem is about: 
Me

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