We are living in a sea of optimism
Unable to be mislead
The same story is being told
It gets so old and feels so cold

You flood us with distractions
That germinate our brains

You fill our lungs with air like a mother’s soothing words
In your sad attempt to ease our sanity
Still we choke and cough up tattered parts

You forget dangerous citizens are involved in a symphonic history
We eat our chicken and never speak
At least that’s what we wish for you to think

Your promises of progress unite most mindlessly
But there are some that know one day your floating fortress will crumble as we make it quake

The price of progress is much too high;
We will not consume it any longer
Or we shall suffer from incurable sanity

(written from the point of view of a person rebelling against force-fed ignorance)

Sunday.
Alone.
I write,
On my own.
May I?
I may.
Do things I didn't,
Yesterday.

I've been out of it lately
been thinking less
sleeping more.
goin to bed at 8pm
waking up at 1pm.
I know it ain't the fact that I'm sick
it's all the cough syrup I've been drinking.
never been high on anything
but the world seems... softer, now.
I'm halfway though that huge bottle,
don't know if I'm gonna miss it when it's gone.
I've told myself that I'm not gonna buy more,
but I'm not so sure

I always wonder
what those boys
who wanted me so much
by the bar
would think of me
in the harsh light of day
through
clear
sober
eyes

I NEVER BROKE ANYBODY'S HEART.
i am not a heartbreaker.

i never took your heart and tore it
or ruptured it
or lacerated it
or stabbed it
or even bruised it
or pricked it

i cradled it and amended it and nurtured it and treasured it and heralded it and championed it and polished it and loved it and maybe even meliorated it

and then, when i could do that no more,
when possessing your heart any longer would inevitably do it harm,

all i did was gingerly give it back to you
fully intact
the most delicate way i possibly could.
if it was broken, you did that yourself.

I wonder how they dug the graves
and shoveled in their young.
When grass was your last supper
your reserves are clearly done.
My forebears wouldn't" take the soup",
they wouldn't sell their souls.
So perhaps determination, then,
gave them strength to dig those holes.
To starve in the midst of plenty
was the saddest sight on earth,
but to their London Landlords
Irish serfs held little worth.
It's known that a potato blight
was the famines primal cause,
but I still blame beef eating men
and the cold uncaring laws.

Tears down my cheek
Relieves pressure and pain
Helps me feel sane
Scars on the heart remain
Most say die in vane
Escape the agony that captures the heart
Being alone no longer a fear
Stay clear of lies
The beauty of eyes ones allow to cry