.  

                      S            S             S
                          h        h         h
                              i      i     i
              S       h    i      t     S     h    i     t
                               S    S    S
                          h        h        h
                     i              i               i
                  t                 t                   t

.
                                     b
                           i        t c         i
                         t         h b           t
                        c          i t              c
                       h        b      i           h
                       b        t       c          b
                        i         h    b          i
                          t         i  t           t
                            c       ch        c
                                      h

Hell no, you don't want to be compared to one of those models idolized in magazines.
True beauty lies outside the fashion industry’s visual constructions.
Fall in love with what you never expected to love, imperfection.
Brand-less self expression.
There are no cameras or flashing lights there
or visual effects.
We come in different range of sizes.
Shame on shallow marketing.
A pretty face can have nasty vices.
Hearts of Gold, now those aren't sold.
- C.Ek

The blood of dinosaurs
pump through the soil
serving as cold platter
for the lit Norwegian cigarette  

The war of music pump paragraphs of hope
through the ear of youths
burning lips in pursuit of happiness.

In search of naked pictures of God in our mirrors,
the internet spent our laws and threw our only hallelujah out the sea—
and Arachne smiled, knowing she’s now the Womb—
and all men come in the belly of eternity in order to be.

I fall in and out of love with
Every passing stranger on crooked sidewalks,
Every boy with a guitar and a broken heart,
Every man who weeps and begs for the graze of my fingertips,
Every woman with lost eyes and the spirit of a lioness,
Every stranger in
Every city, new or old, in
Every coffeeshop with clinking cups and sunshine leaking through the windows, at
Every party met with awkward glances,
Everywhere.

I have decided what substance I prefer the most,
What drug I would keep if for nothing else;
The answer so simple it rocked myself:
Music, both melodic and lyrical.

Expression and experience
together as one, impressing
upon us, this cosmic vibration.

Though *** and psychedelics
may tie for a close second

music will always be my drug.