She questions
All seeing and feeling
With hope for a future
She fights alone
And weeps in silence

We should listen

Deeply wounded she fights on
As parts of her die
Her vision never leaves the sky
Staring towards the heavens
With a prayer on her breath and resolve slowly weakening

We begin to hear

Small acts become large bolstered by numbers
She finds breaths become easier
Only as we fight for her soul
Can the world become whole

on a bed of quantum foam
clothed in pink noise
and enthalpic thoughts
dreaming of An Entheon lost

the hinge is creaking

it's about to pop off its hinges
break right off the wall
the same wall that's
pretty much held it up
forever
even in the midst of the
green grasses of the teenage golf courses
when you could see her through
the window or in the driveway
or whatever / wherever you saw her -
but maybe you didn't even see her.
maybe it was all lost on you
lost in your imagination
where you used to be able
to let songs permeate through the cranium
fill in the cracks and
smoke the crack that you
might consider your brain ...

there are people that come and go in your life
some of them make sense
and others keep on
going on and on - oink and oink
not making a lick of sense at all
forever for ******* ever
and there's nothing you can say to them
because they live in their own tribes
inside their own heads and
none of them even played with toys as
kids. not a single one. maybe one.
no - not even one.

there's a calm that comes over you
when you realize that you are the last
of your kind. nobody else - not a single one.
haha
the first and last of your own kind...
i guess we all are, huh?
thank god there's nobody else out there
just exactly like each one of us.

for the love of god
let me meet met.

nice to meet me.