Sunday Best

Kind of like sun-roofs to the people at the bus stop.
Sort of like kissing someone new in front of your old.
It’s something so meaningless.
Made to cover up what’s underneath,
But they hide more than just bodyparts.
And it’s as if this writing is comparable to it.
“To express,” they claim.
Son, I’ll show expression.
It’s a little story about yourself.
You can’t buy it
Or see it in patterns.
The patterns are seen everywhere but they change in a similar pattern.
Get it?
Stolen from others you simply express them.
Stolen from factories you leave them behind to bleed.
Show me a man whose sunglasses earned him a friend and I’ll show you a man who never had any soul.