So,
this is where we are,
hiding in this house
from what?
Mortality?
Uncertainty congealed
in sickly moments,
knowing one thing but
also another.
And then, of course, the not knowing.
The universe seems so still
but it ripples constantly.
Yes it does.
Everything moves and yet
seems unreal.
We are hiding but
cannot hide from this:
that no meaning will emerge,
no purpose will appear
and time will deceive us all.

i hate how you are the only thing
on my mind
while he is the only thing
on yours....

People like you die young, she said
You don't drink, don't
do drugs, eat healthy, rarely
go out, rarely meet new girls

But you keep on writing, boy, you
keep on writing
and that's enough to outweigh
all the above

You'll see

look at this
this condensed structure of bone
and syrup
with its jaw slack
and it’s eyes so empty
gather round and take a glance
at this creature
stumbling about in a trance-like state
of corrupted effort and damnation
it is the spirit of exhaustion
and disappointment
it hides in your closet

it certainly hid
in mine

The rose colored city all dressed up in pink with a European flair
Exotic colors and looks
Cafes everywhere with people sipping coffee slowly
Tourists walking about exploring

Hypnotic breezes blowing
Palm trees and mountains adorn
Orange trees line the streets
Purple blossoms on jacaranda trees
Scents wafting through the air
Fantasy city, are you real??

It's easy to break stuff
It may seem oxymoronic
It may be
But I think the most
Efficient
way to fix things
Is to break things
On A very large scale.