A concern for something much more solid and concrete. That concrete will be the icing on your cake, the icing to sink you. A cinderblock suicide, a house built around your troubles. You can shut the doors and lock the locks but you are always entrapped with the demons. They are attached to you with your prized possessions. I see their teeth glimmer in your earrings and their eyes are alive in your cherry red fingernail polish. You are never alone. Never from those that haunt you. Pretty glamor in the big box mansion. The rich do cry aloud with their pains and gluttony. Their surprised faces are of the cursed admiration they do gain from innocent bystanders.