we are bored of poverty, handsome though we struggle hard, soft against the ashen and the grime — our crime becomes that we fashion the rags to riches rhyme! Oh please, a beggar on a street may or not as what he seems but most beggars are not symbologies waiting for their carcass scanned but here we do the the gallery view and be satiated at defiling the masses
rags to riches only work when you blow the cunt or cock or all for 2 cents a pop and then get pushed and moved around like some bad tasting of 5 start food. Here we become happy being the fat of the rich cat so we take the blows for them as proxy to their crimes.
Don’t tell about rags and riches; don’t tell I am dumb while I have been selling flowers since 4 now I am 10 but the man who molests me still eager to touch me and yes I am a man thus my tongue stays quiet but everyone knows what’s going on as I stare at women or men in their moving houses ( a car is so nice need not be an RV) and try to get them to buy flowers. Always discontent about the way they behave but always holding my tongue.
You glossy immortals are but celluloid crowned and soon you wax will wither and the tether to your bough will crackle with brimstone from you own asphalt scales and you will consumed and phoenix-born to us and soon you will know that the rags are there to wash and keep the clean of the riches and no Cinderella transformations happen much for even Cinderella came back from the party and went back to rags so her riches were still dependent but we will not be contented by a 1 percent foul play that poisons the broth of the brood.▬