Poetry
Clapback.
Kash Baloch·March 10, 2016·Original
7reading now·633views·392readers

Faces may

pass, you still pay them little mind when you’re on easy street,

walking down the avenues of a life that came so cheap,

no one contests your success, or questions it since you’re the one to beat,

just know that some roads lead to success while others to boulevards of broken dreams.

You treated me as unkindly as the homeless that you passed daily to your

chagrin,

it was not just ignorance, but heartlessness inspired by their suffering,

your own stresses were the only ones that were worth your engagement,

no one else could reserve any spaces in your mind.

Every

morning, you wake up and everything is perfect,

no debt, no worries, you are so much more than the layperson,

convinced you are untouchable and that you have the Midas touch,

living life like you are the centre of the universe is more than enough.

Unprepared

for the rude awakening that waits for you in the shadows,

growing stronger every time it sees your ego in action,

the more you mistreat your fellow man, the more it wants to catch you off

guard,

but it patiently waits for the best moment to tear you apart.

With little

heart, but a home the size of Saturn,

you have no time for sob stories as you plan for your own future,

not easy to love but somehow your life is filled with suitors,

until they realize, like all the rest, that they were just in a stupor.

Clap your

hands, applaud for the man that you’ve become,

twenty-six going on sixty, how’d you get so numb?

Your grave will be the only one that no one visits,

for you wasted your life treating everyone that loved you like shit.

“no one else could reserve any spaces in your mind.”

— Clapback.

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