those forgotten names whispered on occasion
the knee length charcoal black skirts
and the fabricated smiles exchanged by the hour
are all illusions
sewn together, instilled in our brain
they assure us of our dismal fate...
the publicized perception of "the great beyond"

lives that only exist in numbers...
blooming, thousands of white roses in heaven
our innocence and humility erupting
or summons to hell, all seven billion of us
as nothing more than a wilted dream.

our dystopian environment is fixated on what comes "after"
or the hue you want your casket to be
rather than the euphoria that is brought to us
only from the "now" we're submersed in
no one sees how much more we would prosper
if living was the single introspection for our soul