My brain is dead and I am a burnt rubber tire,
I could say I slept, but I would be a lier, lier,
It doesn't make a difference, I am already on fire.

My heart beats a tango, a ballet, a samba,
It plays a tune, it daces to a mamba, mamba,
Someone please let me be, let me feel the rhumba.

I want to sleep forever and ever,
But it feels like forever will be never, never
And I've run out of rhymes, I lost my clever.

Rulers are being double-crossed,
Faith in the system has been more than lost.
One class falls, another will rise,
Some of us will meet our demise.
We take the stage, we take a stand,
We have a revolution on our hands.

I carry your laugh with me for miles.
I carry it through space and time itself.
It’s perched on my shoulders,
    comfortable,
    tranquil,
      ­  and seemingly perfect.
It makes me feel alive,
looping around my ears to hang like antique earrings
and following me everywhere I go.
Your laughter reminds me of a child
who has just gone to Disneyland
and cannot fathom all the joy and wonder surrounding him.

I carry your laugh with me for miles.
I carry it through space and time itself.
It’s balanced on my head,
                                                           ­                             leisurely,
                         ­                                                  calming,      
                                     and undeniably faultless.

Our hushed conversations
became overheard by the stars
and got woven into our galaxy.
The words that passed between our lips
ate away at the milky way.
Metaphors were meteors
and their pinched tails left trails
of stardust
echoed in our skin.
The inky black between transformed into wings
stretched across our universe,

and millions of black swallowtail butterflies took flight.

Water. That was the first thing the man thought upon waking. Water. Clean, fresh, pure water. Water that could quench the seemingly endless thirst, water that could quell the temptation of  taking a sip of the black stream that slithered past him, as poisonous as a deadly viper, coiled and ready to strike.
           It was torture, this barren, roofless cave; the dry air abuse on the mans parched, cracking lips and sandy throat. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky, burning his already blistering brown skin to a crisp. He had been here two days, trapped under the relentless heat.  The man feared he would not survive another. He prayed that people where looking for him, that he was not deserted in this desert. Never had he felt so alone or afraid. Afraid of not being found, afraid of the snake stream, afraid of the swirling skies and the winds that whispered promises of death. He missed cold; he missed rain and sound and car alarms and most of all water. Clean, fresh, pure water. Water that could quench the seemingly endless thirst.
        The venomous water-serpent curled around his lips, and slithered in.

I feel guilty for the life I have lived.
Because I am happy.
Because I have not struggle, I have not hatred, I have not broken.
Because I feel I do not deserve the privileges that I am allowed, nor do you deserve your shattered image.
How ****** up is that?
That I find guilt in my happiness?
That is because my life would be a treasure for someone else, I feel I did not earn my place, my home?
My life?
I have not been recalled to the factory, with a poison substance or cracks in my frame.
I have not been sent away to be reemerged with a new face and a fake smile.
I have not need to fake mine.
And this guilt
This crushing guilt that  still does not fracture me,
I’ll Feel it in my bones
                                 until
                                           the
                                                    day
                                                       ­        I
                                                           ­         die.

Sadness is just the lies we told,
It is damage upon our forgotten souls,

And it burn forever on their hearts of coal.