A creation from big corporations
Living to buy till the day you die
Looking for the best deals, seems like a steal
But its a trap, a well hidden trap
LED TVs you don't need
Black watch you've already got
Smart phones the same as you own
Subconsciously told where to go, what to get,
we forget what is really important.
The friends and family, strong relationships,
And fellowships that make us fortunate.
Spend time on those we still got
Because that can't be bought,

There’s a rope, and it’s laid down flat in front of me.  
It turns into a snake with a yellow belly and red eyes,
and hisses at me,
“everything you’ve been told is a lie.  It’s not a circle, it’s a straight line”   So I’ve followed the rope to the end only to discover
I’ve been walking on cracked egg shells my whole life under the impression I left them whole eggs.  
It drops off at the end, it’s an edge and not rounded.  It drops off
and it’s a black hole looming before me.
I turn to run from it but everything behind me has gone grey
and I can’t see the rope anymore, just twisted mirages of it
I think I may have invented in my head.  
It’s a reflection from my memory,
not the real and solid yellow gold line that
once lay in front of me, behind me, where is it now?
Desolate grey full of secrets that I think I know the answer to
but when I look back realize I can never share, can never be apart of.  Ominous black ahead of me leering;
darkness I can’t see and it’s more of a mystery than what I left behind.
All sides are closing in in different shades of a dark, deceptive cloud
that I can never look through,
and only on the ledge where I stand is it white.

And as I fall into the mysterious abyss, the light follows me until what I left behind has gone dark and I have entered the swirl of blackness, shining.

Take my hand,
maybe I will lead you into a wonderland.
Where the hour glass stops dead its grains of golden sand.
The waves of youth are ceaseless,
the inevitable whole has been banned.

Let's fly away to Neverland.

May I ask,
when hands are quaking beneath
an empty winters sun,
palms chapped and a sand paper tongue,

Why you have chosen to wait
in the ceaseless white snow
for a letter?

If you are expecting a lullaby
to appear,
wrapped snug
in the crackle of bubble wrap,
tucked away
in a fold of Manila,

You would be more hopeful
to listen out for a
bare whispering of the melody
upon the frigid wind.

Why you would choose
to stand and wait
on a Sunday when all is clear ice
is beyond me.

May I say,
as your fingers go numb,
I hope it is worth it.

Eyes closed
To an evenings backdrop
Velvet black with purple stars.

Whisper me the answers
So they will float across
The gloom
Form letters in the
Maroon night sky.

Only when pupils meet skin
May the words reveal themselves
To me.

Only when I lay my head
To rest on the soft white
Cotton of my pillow.

We like what we are
nearly certain we may have.
We like what is nearby,
what we can grab onto.

We like what we know,
what we have before touched.
What we have already explored
and found all the shortcuts through.

We like what we may find
at all times.
What never hides, what is
not a mystery.

*To be avoided

What is the point of faking your smiles,
faking your feelings
towards someone you do not even care about?

What is the point of giving time,
sharing laughters
to somebody you do not even want to be with?

What are you even thinking
when you are with me?
Conversing thoughts
and taking in every minute possible
without actually absorbing
all the words I am constructing