This body does not make sense
in this skin
in this reality
it breathes in its superficiality
but only in the past tense
it does not sense
sensibility
sanity spins
is sensitive to sensory
scams
synapses shoot
send shivers down its spine
This mind is spineless, anyway
always finds time
for stupid irrelevant
irrational unpractical rhymes
through which it mimes
an existence
where at least the mind
makes sense
sometimes

we bleed
but nobody sees this
our blood is invisible
our scars go deep
but fail to surface
and attract attention
in the media
we bleed
and try to stop it
with pale green bandages
of soothing sedation
in piles of junk
impulse purchases
we bleed
and our wounds overflow
with trash
in our collective conscience
and cause clots
seisures
and re-loads
we bleed
but we refuse to die

I need to ground myself
touch and feel the grass
smell the roses
for they are there

I need to ground myself
stop chasing that high, that rush
and let go
for it is time

I need to ground myself
start breathing the analogous real
and **** my avatar
before she kills me

taking his hands
putting away the knife
she saved him

white surface square
centered but
underneath is colour
underneath and
at the edges
of white
spills of colour
comments
covered as if sought hidden
forgotten colour
ecstatic
underneath the pristine
white
square

like a vaccum chamber
the suffocating calm
cancer
reveals layers
of masqued chaos
covered in clean canvas
sheets
and under it
the cameleon creeps
survives
through the cracks
and creased papers
ex-communications
conclusions
with no closure
a circus
with nothing but clowns

he was given wings
preliminary ones
for testing
in a safe environment

but he took them outside
and flew
higher
than anyone had imagined