ever after

In your corporate fairyland
where your helipad sits
safe above the inversions' layer of filth,
where your private elevator
and revolving suite wait
appropriately empty, for you, 
lacking as you are
of any moral compass.

Look down upon the toxic strata
the oily blanket,
the waste you will not claim
the costs you will not acknowledge,
know that there are journeys
from which you cannot return,
places you have been
where ever after
the sick and dying will grasp
their bedsheets with fingers' failing strength,
to turn their backs on you ...
murderer ...