The Weight of Coins

I check my balance, each number a weight,

counting the coins, but they feel like a bait.

Chasing the hustle, I’m losing my soul,

spending on trinkets, but never feel whole.

Bills piled high, a mountain of shame,

drowning in luxury, yet I’m never the same.

The joy slips away, like sand through my hands,

in the flash of a sale, I build empty stands.

Each crumpled receipt tells a story of loss,

a beautiful cover, but a heavy cost.

Money can’t fill the void left in me,

it’s a shadow of happiness, that’s plain to see.