Soul For Sale

I've sold my self
there is nothing left for you to hold
I've sold my self
to routine
for summa cum laude
to rich folks
for a few dollars
to cosmetics
for a few glances of the opposite sex.

Those great ones
slept on benches
drank themselves to their end
ran down the street
with their genitals hanging out.
Roaming the country.
Living off of
Roominghouses and nickels.
fucking the world
one whore at a time.

Those great ones who became
the rich and worshiped
reluctant celebrities
Beatnik idols
they all eventually
sold themselves too.

Here I am with too pretty a face
for my own good
the cynicism boiling underneath
this too short of a skirt
Always on time
confined to a soul defeating
abusive routine.
Waiting to be knocked
off of this godamn monotonous
humdrum we call a life.