Two hundred and eighty thousand reasons to hide from yourself

i keep those dollars

under lock and key.

each one, another flighty excuse

piling up in the recesses of my

scattered brain...

everything I want is not for sale.

purchase unavailable...

~~~

it's true that- Money can't buy you love.

if it could, there wouldn't be a desperate soul left

to bridge the gap between

happiness and loneliness.

it's true that- Money can't buy you fame.

if it could, who would be left to smash our

dreams to smithereens?

it's true that- Money can't buy you peace.

if it could, banks would be smothered

in piles of loan applications.

so, what does that leave me?

a thousand trips to the mall?

a nose job?

that Bengal tiger i've always wanted?

an iconic poem i'll ruin

drinking chocolate milk?

maybe a one-way trip to the moon

and never come back.

pointless...

is the sky really the limit?

are dreams made of wishes?

am I asking too many questions?

it's not my fault the synapses

are stuck in a traffic jam from hell.

it's the 280,000 dollars drilling

a hole right down to the heart of anxiety.

wait!

no one ever said I have to spend it.

what I would do versus what I should do

live on two separate planets.

so, I ask you this, my friend.

what will I do with mountains of cash?

i have no idea!

let's start with a much-needed reset

filled with melatonin cocktails

and hot sandy beaches...

sudden wealth only changes the way we think.

for an apt example, read this poem again.

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