the bastards
the upper management
have no qualms
watching someone

drown

their selective
hearing filters out
anything except
the stockholders

but effect
the precious bottom line
and suddenly their absence
is over compensated
by micromanaging
with zero understanding
of anything except
stamping out little fires
as the inferno rages
all around them

screaming from
a wobbly tower atop
a house of cards
demanding the foundation
shift to their every whim
all while cursing
each broken back as weakness

it wasnt the meek
who inherited the planet
it was empty suits
long left devoid
of any shred of humanity
hungering only for more