Money Talks, Money Kills

It’s my first night in a city. I head downtown where tall buildings swallow the once infinite sky.

A chatter howls from a distance, dragging my heavy legs towards it like magnets—but I don’t see its crowd.

I hold my jacket more tightly as I walk through an area full of homeless people. Hundreds shivering, yet invisible to the city’s eyes. I’m trespassing a blackhole that absorbs all sounds—all except my echoing footsteps.

The chatter draws me to the nightclubs. Soundwaves escape the buildings and shake me viciously.  A door flings open—three drunk men are thrown out of the establishment. They’re waving fists and hurling insults at one another; each punch is a whirr of words.

I step on a used syringe; its crack unleashes a corpus of murmurs. Strangers coat pavements in puke, souls screech from inside their kidneys.

The chit chat is getting rowdier. I turn corners in haste, looking for its source. It’s calling me. But my head’s getting dizzy, lights are blurring into one artificial sun, my legs are sinking into asphalt.

I’m surrounded—the chatter crawls from everywhere; yet nowhere. My head’s about to explode as it’s pumped with never-ending litanies. I collapse to the ground.

My body trembles along the city’s dwindling heartbeat. Its lungs wheeze out polluted air. I understand what it’s been trying to tell me. Money does the talking; money does the killing.  

Jeremy Mifsud is a queer and autistic poet from Malta. Social ineptitude becomes a catalyst for his art as he weaves unsaid words into poems and stories. He is the author of the poetry collection Welcome to the Sombre Days (2018). More of his works appear or are forthcoming in Please Hear What I’m Not Saying (Fly on the Wall Poetry Press, 2018), Terse Journal, Constellate Magazine, and others. He can be found on Twitter (@poetrybyjeremy) or on his site,