Do they look at us and think we have no soul,
as we line them up and coerce them to pay
for the edible cancer.
Do they smile so fake as we do,
we all know the lies and pleasantries are mandatory.
Their faded eyes cascade over us,
a very thin wall separates us.
Do they know we silently judge them,
as they ask for one atonement for the disease
they are willingly ingesting.
As they leave with a clatter of paper,
we reassure ourselves we're better than they are.
Do they look at us and think we have no soul?
Author notes
Weeelll, its been an awful long while since I last wrote anything, and really if anyone still bothers coming by this page, I really appreciate it.
This one is a sort of getting back into the program kind of poem, and its really inspired by work, actually. xD I work at a movie theater, and I just happened to be in Concession this last shift and Voila. This poem, as morbid and horrible it makes my work sound, work is actually pretty awesome. Just, customers suck. >3>;
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