Vision is blurred. Thoughts are irregular.
Nothing is what it seems. Scream out in pain.
And in want. Take another drink.
Take another sip. Another gulp.
Body relaxes, numb. Cool, calm, collect.
Seven bottles, seven liquors. Seven days.
Gluttony.

ATM machine. Close to midnight.
Counting the money. It’s all there.
Wall Street at night is black, dark.
Another account, another pay raise.
Armani. Versace. Mercedes. Jaguar.
Seven cars, seven homes. Seven days.
Greed.

Push cart. Full of clothes. Full of lost.
Fingerless gloves, toeless shoes.
Stink of shit all around, and all about.
A pink slip one day, a dirty face the next.
Interviews forgotten, never kept.
Seven blocks, seven cents. Seven days.
Sloth.

Night streets. Dark and gloomy.
G-string, tube top, high heels.
Blue eyes, red lips. Calling out for love.
Calling out for sex. Sodomy for money.
Red lights, dark rooms.
Seven hundred, seven men. Seven days
Lust.

Watch the man with the wife and child.
Wanting to be the man, have the wife and the child.
Enter homes, sleeping in their beds.
Eating their food. Wearing their clothes.
Tattooed name, contacts, dyed hair.
Seven years, seven hours. Seven days.
Envy.

Screaming children, punch in the face.
Crying wife. Baseball bat to the head.
Flashing lights, red and blue and white,
Ambulance sirens, call emergency.
Begging life, pleading on their knees.
Seven arrests, seven charges. Seven days.
Wrath.

Beauty queen, cover model.
Nose job, tummy tuck, implants.
Self-portrait everywhere and about.
Lovely face, dull inside,
Wanting this, demanding that.
Seven changes, seven looks. Seven days.
Pride.

Dead is the drunk, dead is the broker,
Dead is the bum, dead is the hooker,
Dead is the killer, dead is the dreamer,
Dead is the model with the body of an angel.
Lucifer has risen and has pulled his strings.
Seven has ignored the seventh day,
Seven shall die under grace.