Gigolo

I don't know why everybody thinks I am rich,

are they blind to see my wrinkles and itch,

I just scrape enough to take care of my need,

working jobs to which I can no longer heed,

can't they see that I am tired and exhausted,

on the verge of breaking down patchy, roasted?

when did they last see me smiling like a sky?

when did they hear me last saying dreams do fly?

I feel like a Gigolo who has sold his soul,

time and universe could not answer whose call,

should my heart stop pounding to give a proof?

isn't it enough that I stay distant and aloof?