A cup of tea
Eyes on the oncomers, searching for someone who seems to have something that I want, spare change perhaps.
Although I don’t feel as though I can extend my hand to have that.
Ornaments that no one wants in my hand. Pieces that I managed to struggle out of a flea market. Haven’t sold once.
They say I have a face that suits my specialty.
People give me money if I approach them, as if they think I have nothing to offer. They like me, the face that makes them get rid of me.
The shops in front have people hired just for me, so they can ruffle me around.
People may run away seeing a delinquent who wants to sell, there is no fooling anybody here,
no selling, no deals are being done here, just plain old beggary.
This girl gave me 10 dollars and smiled. She left with an aura oozing that she had done something.
It doesn’t do anything.
It is a means to give.
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A cup of tea. Heaven’s desires, tempting me, but in an instant, grounded. As if I must pay for every lust of my own.
The tea doesn’t even have to get cold.
I think of the back alleys where I stroll. Women, men, lying there with faces that are not here half the time, but have no fear as they get what they want.
They are shattered, though. Hands and feet that feel crippled, although they made themselves.
Everyone has a descent.
Even me.
For some, it’s all downhill from here, but that doesn’t necessarily mean things are getting worse or that they’re worse off.
It seems that others have found work thanks to … And generosity still exists. The reason why isn’t important.
It’s good that you wrote .
Thank you.
There are times that I would have that similar feeling, whenever something good happened.
But I'm glad to see you here again. I was about to DM you on Substack
Thank you for all your support and concerns.
0.00 SBD,
0.04 STEEM,
0.04 SP
See you around, my friend
In this world, it seems as though everything has a monetary value. The wealthy feel like angels when they hand out alms. Indeed, in the alleyways you described, one can feel death wandering from place to place.
En el mundo pareciera que todo tiene un valor monetario. Los adinerados se sienten ángeles cuando dan unas limosnas. Por cierto, en los callejones descritos por ti se siente la muerte deambular de un lugar a otro.