The human race is amateur
No one reaches godliness or
Perfection
There is only a soul searching
For answers in an answerless world

empty glass vases

Their only purpose is to be filled with floral waters
But there are chips and cracks in them all
And even the most fathomless bouquet arrangements
Carnations, daffodils, baby's breath, poppies, sunflowers,
roses


All die.

And the way to get through life
Is to tell them all what they want to hear*

The sweet **** spews out
With rotting apple cores and snow pink freezerburned meats

Starving pigs eat it just the same

Like robots and drones they are drowning themselves

In ****

Mouthful after mouthful they swallow

And after their fat bellys over fill until they explode from gluttony

I will be rich

A worker bee without a queen
Born to serve
Not to lead
With no one to obey
What purpose does he have?
Patiently waiting for someone to walk by
Counting each buzz the seconds fly
A waste of space
A waste of time


And all he has to do is sting.

In today's society
You need one of three things
For success

Money
              A high IQ
                                  American Beauty

Those who have all three -

Are GODS.






...
(The artists are left to die)

I am not sure if it is
Fools who attract other fools
Or dresses that are a bit too tight
Soft dainty fabric presses against sunkissed summer skin
almost to reveal the soul
Hoping anyone will see
Like old men who stop to stare at bright garden daisies that are
Dying in the mists of milk cloudy grey

There's nothing to write anymore
No great wisdom to be found
Everything has been said
Happy or sad
Alive or dead

The philosophers', poets', and politicians'
Words live on till the earth's end

And my name will drift then drown in silence on
A whisper
On one last breath

She's in her Kansas bed filled with
Straw of yellow gold
Staring at the empty ceiling
She wishes she was home
Shoes of ruby click three times

She is already there the

Sickness remains