Status Quo (a serious poem about our world today).

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(Thanks in advance for reading my poem). Park bench slumber in morphine dreams, there's murder for hire, and late night screams. Supermarket carts filled with bottles and cans, owned by swollen ankles and gnarled hands. Some live in luxury, while others scrape by, yet we all have a finish line when this world we bit goodbye. Empty handed we arrived, and empty handed we'll go, some live with nothing in between, continuous status quo.