People are fucking weak. Yet they love telling anyone who’ll listen how to live.
Ask them what they wore two days ago and they’ll talk about how they
plan on painting their walls, because they know it’s time to paint, but don’t bother
asking why the mold grew without cancellation. Fuck their mold and their societal illness. At morning’s age I knew this wasn’t good, but had no claws. And now that later is, I’ll tell what needs to be told. Even if it takes tears and smashed bowls on walls with hatred in my eyes.
when a child doesn’t move and it isn’t their choice. they remove hurt with a pillow missing. cross their heart with thought. don’t tell that child what is. scraping winds picking up their tears. we’ll live again. sink now. the missing pillow gave way. it was never their fault.
I’ll see you when you remember me- the boy thought- Be a mindless boy- be a mindless boy. A leaf landed in the pond. The pond rippled. The boy in the water wavered. The boy outside the water tilted his head, ‘but they said only true words hurt.’ He then reached toward the rippling face of himself with intent to disturb.
One boy saw too much. And the ones around him grew along. Wanting to know how he knew things they did not. A counter called time went on. He couldn’t tell them- It starts in a terrible way. It starts with a question. It starts in a dark bedroom. Without anyone seeing. Or, it starts in a car without anyone around. It starts without sound, then with sound, and then it doesn’t stop. A young boy saw far too much. It didn’t need to be this way. It just was.
Death has a sound unlike any other-
listen! The same melody plays in the early hours
We know this song
Let Prometheus spark again-
a sip of fine wine
a bit of our favorite scotch
a taste from the most velvet soft lips
the scent of the back of her neck
26.2188 with delivery
this is true
this Is true
but who am I to ask
Death is more than a balcony’s plot from which we grieve. Death is not evil. An echo inside spewing a self-made matrix without end. Have we touched the sun today. Have we given thought to the mirror behind. So many rules to place our hearts on shelves.
for others to dismantle.
Death as it stands
has a sound like no other
and yet I’ve never heard it
My favorite cigar is the one left overnight in the rain. The next morning it’s billowed with intelligence. A thing to know. It’s more wet than not. and it doesn’t want to dry, but it does because. Eventually the sun reminds the cigar of its now and we are again reunited. I’ll take my life left to light that cigar and see it live again.
The bus was crowded and I didn’t have time. You crowded me further with your pink eye. You told me that you could change your eye color at will. I didn’t believe you. I watched from the bus window as you walked to your door. Your house was dark. The steps were old and wooden. Your house had broken walls. Now you’re gone and I still don’t know if you changed your eye color.
We were wandering our woods, passed the ravine, and near the big river than home. We came upon a tree that was sick. Its bark was pealing and we wanted to help. We kicked the bark with our boots. The pealing bark flew into bushes and ferns. We kicked around the base of the tree and started to kick higher to remove all the bark that we could. The frog approached and promptly asked, ‘What are you doing?’ We replied, ‘We’re helping this tree.’ The frog said, ‘Clearly you are not. Can’t you see? All you are doing is kicking this tree.’