outside of my room in a doll house,

plastic walls with a stone ground,

neighborhood strolling through a town,

stand tall crisp structures,

like a balanced poem,

an audio waveform of industry.

outside of a town in a dull world, 

fields of grey on a telephone,

apologizing for myself,

i'm sorry.

the fresh air and starlight,

are like a lovely wedding,

a soul trap of finance.

the beast is sewing our skin onto him.

we burn for the engines,

and stress out the fumes,

we are no where near the outside.

the pastel colored plastic siding,

our east coast fractured cement,

the riddling of legislature,

and diaries of suicides,

draw me to the outside

I capture the sun light at the 666th,

1 stop shallow of the brightest point.

through the small pinhole, 

in black and white,

I carefully admire all grey areas,

and search for the absolutes.