Possession

With purchase we learned possession
the idea of ownership a morbid lie
serenading us into cages
the way pigeons drop when they
hit their flight against transparent glass.

Our riches are transitory,
the things we bought as mortal as ourselves
the things we own end up owning us
entrapped in the goods that pretend
to tell our tales

words are fleeting
like when a man says "i love you"
and if his love stays for more then a moment
it isn't mine anyways

my breakfast gets shitted out eventually
and romance always ends in pain
my nails break when I let them grow
and people may change as quick as fashion

so nothing is mine
the people i love can hurt me
because they aren't mine
I couldn't even buy them.