Where did my enthusiasm for life go?

It is lost.

I can not find it.

A dead child took a part of it with them when they left me.

Their sister died the day thereafter.

Another piece of me was lost, with her.

A political debate stole another.

Liars in suits.

Front and centre.

Spotlights.

Applause.

The lies.

The obvious lies.

The shameless lies.

Each lie killed a part of me.

The greedy hollow men.

The Wall Street men.

And women.

Chasing dead numbers.

Each number, a tiny piece of me.

Sacrificed.

For a yacht.

Or a car.

Or a trophy wife.

The numbers used to be trees, once.

The numbers used to be alive, once.

I was more alive, once.

The cruel.

The petty and small minded men.

And women.

I can not remember the last time I laughed.

I am life itself.

But is this living?