We all fight to be heard
with our volume turned into brandished swords
silver blades made of words and vibration
our murdered time dragged around the court
of our conversations
before being stuffed into our personal coffers
as other people try to buy more time
it's easier to be reborn when you are dying
its easier to leave when you know it will all
be taken away

I want to stay up all night
we'll watch the radio
and hear the things that never see the light

Better pack well
another infection
called bitterness
is spreading into hearts

How many rose from the earth
clay monsters
clay men
to be empty
or a single thing rattling around a tin chest?


not one

They don't have to make sense
these words you say
just so long as you say them
send them off
and send them out
whisper
shout
scream as if you are dying
go beyond the definitions
so long as the feelings there

I stood there
in the haven of damp
while the rest of the world sat
soaking wet
dripping wet
and frozen
There is no sun
but its better than bleeding

How many never stand up
for fear of being laid low?
how many people count stars and
forget to ever ask
what did counting ever do?
How many star on the edges in ball gowns and masks
thinking "better to be uncomfortable
than to be let down"
so they stay where they've been
and become who they already were
for the sake of being
something they've always known

Out of touch
disconnected
a hundred applications
all rejected
what have we learned during out time made of stone?
other than how to not live alone?
You've only ever loved yourself reflected
Haven't you, Mr. Jones?