A culture of addiction and ignorance
Pushing poppies instead of daisies
The only light snakes around the corners
Of carefully drawn blinds.
Red eyes.
Tongue tied and silent
A supernova behind the eyes of an innocent
The memories of masochism and open hands
Fingers pressed together
Cruel intentions caked in the creases of palms.
They haunt the night time
Is it night time?
Mildew.
The smell of apathy with a hint of persistence
Which sets in once the blackness starts to seem periwinkle
And geography is etched into ****** finger tips
And skinned knees.
Every penny flowing free
Into the crook of your elbow.
Anything to silence. Anything to feel.
Hope and healing are out of reach
But the apples still shine in your eyes when you dream
And then everything seems a little closer.