a child trying to understand the world
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Your shelter, Your illusion
coldblooded, halfhearted
this eternal masquerade
You are wasted rotten
with mirrors gold;
reflections twisted,
subconscious mold,
ice-cold camaraderie.
I feel sick to live in a world like this
My glass is not half empty
It was drank before I was even born,
Now I am stuck in a desert swallowing sand
Tell me why it's okay
February 1, 2018
Dear World;
I saw a headline today.
A sad truth typed across white canvas.
Staring at my screen, the fluorescent sun of my singular universe, I urge the words to float away.
Why are there weapons of mass distructiosn
Our we so caught up in takeing over do we not feel the love and compasion that we are born with
Ready or not hear I come Im going to find you and make you better
An antique frame
with nothing inside
Four cornered and bland
hanging for the freedom of emptiness
A bare-built shell
challenging the curiosity of wholeness.
Imagine all the scraps
When did every birthday stop feeling like "the best birthday ever"?
When did Christmas start to feel less of "holy cow presents!" And more "oh god family obligations”?
Imagination.
The picture.
Everything we see.
Is it just pictures.
Imagination.
Imagination.
Our minds.
All work different.
None like the other.
Imagination.
If I was an inanimate object
I wouldn't feel the things I feel
But If I was an inanimate object
Nothing would be quite as real
I'd never be sad
We live in a world of confused kids
Confused adults, love comes ,love goes
We live in a world where hate comes before love,
We live in a world where you don't really know
Christened by feathered leaves
softly settle
a silhouetted sleeping figure slowly covered
peaceful, watchful
endings.
And I dream of purity
When asked what I remember about my childhood, I will answer “smoke;”
There’s a lingering, hovering cloud in all my most recallable memories.
