dueces

The noise drips into my ears
The smoke rolls into my veins
As I sit there gazing into space
Lucrative, often unsettling space

My glance is momentarily stolen
By a rare scream of jubilation
And it costs me a dinner, or two
So I cannot even smile at that

I can only smile as a front
A sham. Utterly insincerely.
At people I don’t care for
Or whose livelyhood I endanger

What life is this, I ask
In front of the table
My head unnaturally low
Eyes still fixed in space

It’s new to me. Glamourless.
I fold another hand
Mostly waiting on change
I guess most of us are

Wishing for things to hurry up
So we can make more money
For a life we spend mostly waiting
A vicious trap. I raise my dueces.

Waiting. Always. Meanwhile…
Dieing. What life is this?
Three of a kind, no suprises there.
Just smoke, and noise, and money.