Why is it all just a storm?

A crisis?
    More than a crisis
A jester?
    More than a jester
A king?
    More than a king

I’ll end thee, brutal vulgarity
Your arms folder in envelopes
  And the laggard you call a brother
  Can’t sign his own name

But I remember one thing I was told
“Rotten eggs always taste fresher
  Because they remind you of hunger
  And hunger reminds you you’re real”

So I bit down on the yolk of it all
  And laughed like a man being hanged
Because the wind never stops —
  It just changes itself.

He wrote a poem
A burned poem
He drank a glass
A shattered glass
He saw the light
A dark light
He touched his face
A stranger’s face

What is a hopeless act that transcended time?
A felony.
What is an opinion in our modern time?
A crime.
What is a T-shirt’s legacy?
A brawl.
What’s the perfect name for a regular man?
A loon.

What are you looking at me for?
The clouds have spoken to me in my sleep
My baby daughter says she’s three
Burning locomotive, what is your reasoning?

A lie has never been so lethal before
***** clothing
A rocky path that feels soft
An epiphany
He drinks a glass he broke himself
The glass that was given already broken
In the end, he just tells himself
“Such a canker, this life”

If you have a coin
Call me by your name
I’ll steal it from you

Watch this, another one bleeds
Another life lost to the feed
It’s a circus! And we’re all laughing desperately!
This is it! Our collapse is televised, monetized and livestreamed!

The bread, eaten by men with tired jaws, their spirits dull in their cloistered mouths. People chew without flavor, without desire, without butter, without anything; these individuals prefer cake.

“But really, this can’t be right, tell me!”
Like mold, everything withers around you!
“Why do dreams fade away at the break of dawn?!”
Even the pale sun no longer awakens their hunger.

Alas, a man is found, dead! A pale face, his head covered in blood, what a vie en roses! The bread, never touched, was not far from the body.

“Oh, how ugly this man is!”

After a few moments, the crowd understands one thing: before his death, he was eating cake.

There’s a bin on the way home,
I wonder what’s inside.
A tired ocean? Remains of a dome?
Expired food? A bucket of fries?

I came closer to the smell of fish,
I open it, it was red, black and white.
Whatever I saw inside that day,
Made me scared for my life.

An eye, a liver, a lung, a tooth,
All of it inside this dark, heavy booth.
I closed the bin quickly, I wan away,
I guess I can call it a day…

Saying is one thing, doing is another,
A crooked spine for a lover.
Cut the canvas, impossible to mend,
A fallen soldier for a friend.

Yes, go on now! Add a stitch!
Each thread you pull begins to twitch!
Nowadays, words equal to a mace,
A Chelsea smile for an everyday face.

A tale for all, some died in vain,
I said it all, and I’ll say it again!
Open eyes, seeing red,
A man’s demise is his own bed.