There is no screaming.
There are no car horns wailing
or tires screeching.
The many understanding
voices of nature
resound softly in my ears,
and that is all.

There is no hatred.
There are no greedy demands
or acts of malice.
The calm caress of a breeze
excites my moist skin
beneath the unyielding sun,
and that is all.

There are no people.
I have no mother to love
and no one to please.
The promise of solitude
weighs down on my mind
evoking sighs of relief,
and that is all.

I do not have to try.
There is no judgment,
and there will be no disappointment,
The unbiased acceptance
of the trees and the birds
silences my restless thoughts,
and I am at peace.

Time roars by.
It's four, it's five.
I'm up to see
the sunrise again.

I've lost the faith
that I never had.

"He was only twenty."

My reaction shouldn't be

"lucky *******."

The leaves are falling
in love with the ground against
their own dying will.

Crude naked figures
stand against a white backdrop
painted by the snow.

Kaleidoscope rain
drops distort the newborn buds
of flowers to come.

Freckles on a young
child’s sun-kissed skin whisper
of long summer days.

We are imperfect products
placed in the midst
of an imperfect society,
a vicious cycle of perseverance
and failure:
constructed,
broken,
fixed,
and fixed again.

Airbrushed and painted
to perfection:
pale skin
flushed cheeks
slim legs
and a smooth mindset.
Opinionated only
on the matter of
superficial products –
glamorizing and embellishing.

Deteriorating enamel –
cracks in a varnished frame.
A scratched surface,
damaged to the core,
polished and glazed over.
Skin made paler,
cheeks more flushed,
skin and bones,
and a mind wiped clean.

Unachievable expectations
and inevitable failure
are enough to b r e a k
even the toughest material

d
o
w
n.