I don't need your good intentions
cause last time I checked they were empty gestures that
hid somewhere in the grosgrain of the social fabric where
you wove bitterness between the threads of memories;
embroidered resentment with needles that dyed
linen with blood-strained pinpricks

made promises of upgrading with improved hopes and dreams
but our lives are an installation piece that can't be erased as easily as
you destroyed our happiness