Money's Hollow Shine

I held the bonus—cold and plain,

a slip of paper that bought no gain.

Paid rent, the neon’s sickly light

cast long shadows in the night.

Passed the man curled by the subway door,

a figure folded on the floor.

My pockets full, but hollow spun,

empty under the shuttered sun.

The flicker held no warmth or gold,

just cold metal and stories untold.

Money comes but never fills,

a glass cracked, chasing cheap thrills.

I counted bills and lost the fight—

the wallet heavy, the soul light.