Crime Pays

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Everyone knows that crime pays, and everybody does it.

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Where are we at?
I'm still standing in front of you.
You are barely attached to the front of your heart.
I'll enter the barrel of the gun of your own drunk lover's art.
You'll still be facing forward like you wanted me to say I'm sorry.
I'm not.
Never was.
We were screaming silences to the ceiling and bouncing our heads back and fourth.
Shades on with extra tint and large frames to distract the onlookers.
Look at me and tell me that you know who you are.
Then beg and lie and cheat and steal from the house that someone else built.
Not us, but the world around us and the birth givers and care takers and bystanders.
No one is innocent of these crimes.