I guess I'm at a point where it's hard to accept the fact that these facts aren't always facts, something like a trap in an acid bath. We all feel the rath but refuse to do the math, with no plan of attack to give more than we lack. Our world is a black cat, and we still blame it all on bad luck.
How many times have we said that this life just simply isn't enough? I guess there's simplicity in giving up, and that specifically stems from a gut of empty authenticity. We ARE electricity, but instead of honing in on ourselves, we fixate on the T.V. screen. It makes me want to scream, honestly.
I'm so sick of the mean hearted schemes that are believed to be what we "need". The generation of children that don't even know what it means to claim how they want to be seen.
We lack ownership.
To be real is to keep your soul clean in a ***** room, to bloom through all of this rain and the gloom, to never doom another person, because you have never walked in their shoes. You dive in the chemically toxic pool, and drown others for being "thirsty". I think we are all parched for some mercy on this journey. We cannot demand perfection when we, ourselves, could never be worthy. I guess I'm just in a hurry to correct a vision that remains so blurry. I guess I'm in a vortex of complex rejects who think it's best to neglect the steps to reach an untouched depth.
Hold your respect, I am not done yet.
I guess this life runs through my pen. I might run out of ink before I reach the end, because I feel myself talking to these lines like they're my only friends. I guess I'm saying that I think people pretend because they don't know how to ascend beyond energies that only suspend.
If I could lend you peace of mind, I would crack my veins all over these lines,
seal it in an envelope, and you could read behind my eyes. I guess you would be surprised that sometimes these words only flow like water because I cry at the sight of the world's demise.

- L.G.

To calculate the perfect math and succeed in society,
must we have to subtract the right to live free,
and do so privately?
Do we have to become unwrapped and molded in the warm hands of the man
that overstands but never will understand?
We are not banned to take a stand to the plan
implanted before we even began.
Do we have to learn anger before we are no longer strangers to peace?
Because I would never put a heart in danger,
but I could use a frustration release.
Do you see what I mean? -
Being torn between how they want me to be and noticing these things
that would leave my soul unclean...
I think that we should represent the unseen:
The things they don't believe reside within you and me.
The unity that could be.
The troubled hearts with the ever growing will to breathe.
The neglected souls that still, won't ever deceive.
The bewildered trees that still paint the scene.
Isn't it lovely?
Would you still love me?
If you knew you had to take off your mask,
would you still trust me?
I promise we could run free.
Follow me, we could make time move slow.
The cosmos bleed, let's reflect their glow.
We could make it so
its never our time to go.

- L.G.

It is 3:00a.m,
and a cold breeze has suddenly rushed into my room.
These chills seem to have woken me up
to have a conversation with the moon.
The moon that remains so bold,
to shine so bright in such immense darkness.
How brave of her to have the ability to harness the
tarnished cities of which she oversees..
the battered leaves that tomorrow, will leave with the breeze..
the purest hearts that drop down to their knees
in the middle of the street
begging you to please,
have some sympathy..
the thieves that leave with the keys to our hearts,
the ones who said you would never be stranded,
yet you watched them depart.
She sees the things
that wake us out of our coldest dreams.
And yet, her energy bleeds
to relieve the shackles
and loosen your seams.
It seems we don't notice those that breathe,
unless they play a character
in this illusionary theme...
a scheme of how things should be in society.
She observes quietly.
How brave of her to absorb
the reflection of tears
that fall on our floors.
This stillness is something I have come to adore, more and more.
It plays jazz music on the deepest depths of my candescent core.
The door is open, and from myself, I am torn.
I have decided to be bold
like the moon's pull that allowed this ballpoint to roll.
It is time for me to go back to sleep,
and awake reborn.

- L.G.

I feel that I am glowing.
So long, I have been floating.
If I'm wrong, my heart will keep on hoping
to be the song that's helping with the coping.
I know it gets hard,
but everyday we walk on the concrete.
Put down your guard,
and i promise to approach you softly.
We could feel like we were soaring.
We could peel out of our minds,
I think we should get going.
By the way, your aura is golden.
It's beautiful how you never let trust in yourself be stolen.
We perfect the art of holding on...
Like your favorite song waking you up at the crack of dawn,
or tension so strong it could break an arm.
In everything, I hear a melody,
presented by "we" the unseen;
I walk breathlessly.
I wonder if you wander aimlessly or if you graze through this maze of life gracefully..
So long, I've waited patiently.
So long, you know I have a place to be.
If I am wrong, I suggest you start chasing me.
Follow me and you might see
what it's like to be escaping free.

- L.G.