Caught up in,
pulled off course,
stabbed in the back,
and thrown a bone,

by,

pretty people's music,

pretty people's TV,

pretty people's movies,

pretty people's stories,

pretty people's poetry.

Shattered memories,
fly to my feet,
in a certain sound.

Picking up the pieces,
piecing them together,
in a certain sound.

Building a mirror,
reflecting a petty, warless me, long searched for,
ancient feelings,
and a current comparison.

When sounds broke down walls,
and sights crashed through windows.

My unrealistic desires,
roll from the back to the front of my eyes again.

And I'm hijacked by a powerful urge,
to right my wrongs, and heal my world.

To regain the impossible,
upon seeing it in the pretty grips,
of yearned others.

But jealously fills me to the brim,
and toxicity spills over the rim.


Now nothing means everything to me.

The stars won't tear down the bright, blue sky for good.
The moon never stays hanging high forever.
Not even the deepest reaches of space keeps hostages.

The sun will shine again,

if you let it.

Let it...

War waged in a stare,
into your eyes, I lose,
all in shakes of hands.

A shinning, blinding red gem,
or maybe a shooting star,

took a human form,
walked through those holy double doors,
and went by a very fitting name.

Meet it,
love it,
need it,
take it.

Breed it,
bleed it,
leave it,
need it.

Kings and queens,
lowered to peasants,

under the new higher tyranny,
of plastic effigies.

Kings and queens,
deserving of their thrones,

overthrown,
by perfect impossibilities.


The eyes of the beholders,
hidden under a grey sea,
of false, faulty fresh meat.


Please, please, oh, please...

Don't cut and starve yourself into a mannequin.