Mare jaoge?

As the wretched wrench turns
and the whistles blow,
announcing an end,or its near,
the lighter shades,
the colour fades,
and drains out,
like the palm that,
loses its colour,
pressed against its own thumb.

Written after just seeing and not experiencing the pressure that commercial research
implies,for producing drugs for everyone's benefit,yet draining the same people that make
them happen.