Calls for Patriotism,
Does not equal a compromise.
Complaining about divisiveness
Requesting unity, and patience
Is the luxury of the majority.

To ask such things, emulates ignorance
Offering togetherness, as blind eyes fall
On bodies littered in streets, or behind bars
It is to insist to further a cause of opposition
Allowing complacency to enslave and oppress

I'm in such a state of panic for what seems like no reason, to you.
But what if the story of your life was all at the tip of a quill pen.
The words are running out of ink too fast as they unravel on to the page like a tangled ball of thread coming undone and at any moment the weak thread could break.
Tangles take time to unravel.
That's the danger of rushing this but all of this waiting is making my heart weak as anxiety swallows my heart into a  seemingly bottomless chasm.
I have so much to say but my words seemed to have become knots in the thread. Still tied to you and as soon as you decide to fly away my malnourished veins will burst.
A part of me has been stolen and I'd file a case of identify theft but I never knew who I was to begin with so maybe I've always been nobody.
There's no ink left anyway.
I keep writing and no words are visible.
There are only light indentions of where words are supposed to be and if you tilt your head a little to the left you can almost see what I was trying to say.
But no amount of squinting or light on the page can make these words real because they are only glimmers of dying ideas.
The future is unwritten and I'm out of ink.
As pure and gentle as your flawless feathers seem I don't have the ink to write with.
This feather doesn't do me any good if our future isn't flowing from the quill.
I feed the fire with the pages of my life as if I'm a hoarder of pens with unlimited pages in this journal
But I only have just this one quill pen with no ink and I'm on the last page.
You'd be panicking too.

Gunshots and bombs exploding
My bones are soggy to the marrow
But it's something so peaceful as a summer storm
Yet it has sent me into war
Thunder and lightning,
My rain-soaked clothes
Something so violent as my heart splattering across the pavement
Pebbles piercing icy chills through my veins
Yet I love the way my heart pounds.
My blood showers down and the children dance in the scarlet puddles
As if it's some kind of game.
They must find amusement in bruising up the pavement
The way they stomp all over it
The pitter patter of their skipping feet
Only leave a muddy mess behind

You're just a cigarette
And this temporary buzz isn't enough for this longing heart
I need a stronger substitute
Something with a full effect
Someone with an addiction so strong it's impossible to break

As far as I can think back
Sadness is all I've known
It's almost what I like
It's almost comforting