Sonnet #6

In the end I guess I’m just a number 
Not one to be noticed or make trouble
Content as long as I don’t hunger
Wearing myself thin through the hustle

I have my assigned place after all
Worn down to the bone every finger
Monetize every creation for windfall
Exhausted and empty pockets linger

I have sold every part of my soul that I can
Trying to be a name instead of the number I am

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