I cried for a light, but fell through the floor.
There is no apt description for what I saw.
I had hoped to see the world bend and wilt like dried leaves curling in a brawl with flames.
The green invaded with ash which would take off into the sky.
But I didn’t.
I saw nothing.
Most of the world is empty, and yet we keep ******* it drier.
More food and mass for the black hole which will swallow us whole.
But before all that let me pick up this axe and drain the ****** amber sap,
Let me boil this ancient ones remains so that my tire may roll and my child can have a more sleek-looking doll.
My boots crunch on a shell, the earth is hollowed of life and paved, locked away in a scaly grey crust, tar. Staling the air, cloths and nails too, the air is stuffed with the stuff.
The man locked in the box without any lights knew that there were four walls, a ceiling and a floor.
He knew each step, each corner and crack, but could not say what was written outside, nor how tall or large it truly was. He could not stick his hands in to measure the width of the walls.
He could not see to find the door.
But in the pit the crowd went wild, a fit, ham ****** fight, bodies breathing sparks and singers speaking revolutions into royalties.
Our minds are empty, our fibres are flailing, they’re in the pocket whilst lining them too!
I saw no room for the bribery of interest and the interests of art to cohabitate this mental space.
The music spat out of the drums, and slid off the strings,
The bass drum and high-hat gasping, boom, tick, boom tick.
In-between the breaths, the guitar hovered over the top, whipping the crowd and the bass,
Shaking the earth, already buzzing from the stomps mashing down the dirt.
I saw no room for silence when the sounds made shapes, and no room for sounds, when silence stole the stage.
‘We want you’
Cries the buttoned up leatherneck, the premonition of he.
‘There’s room for you still, the war eats boys and ***** out men’
Thats how the get them in.
The next day he called ‘bye ***, ima go fly my flag and wave a gun’. She called ‘Have fun’.
Within three weeks of mud and rot, the boy got shot, face full to flat, wearing a green coat then black. Now there’s an empty place-mat. Just a conversation piece. The sad reminder of an empty chair.
I cried for a light, but fell through the floor
There’s just no justifying what I saw.
‘Don’t let them in, they’re vermin, they sin’
And if you ask what’s the difference between me and him, if you ask why the wall, why the dogs, Why we don’t take steps to emancipate, why anticipate hate when the power of love can overcome the love of power, that is when we reach our golden hour.
Today, I can’t imagine winning tasting so sour.
But I bite the prize and spit it out.
What the hell is everyone really arguing about?
So when they lower their bodies down, saying that we're dying proud, don’t sing our anthem too loud, keep the rhythm but listen, between the drum rolls and bullet snares, you’ll hear the cries of people outside the box. Perhaps if listened to they'll find a door, and shine a light. Maybe we don't all need to fight.