Good sir,
I'm dreadfully tired
Like the moon in a cascade crescent
I'm flushed out of all my water
Bounded and chained by struggle
I dip in and out of a lifeless frame
Resorting to sleeplessness
And as red as the Red Sea
My blood flows deep
High on emotion
Drinking from the well of plasticity
And fabricated tellings
Nothing smells the same anymore
Much less the rain waiting at the front door
As you walk in from the news
Put the keys down and weep
As another is slain and forgotten
So I ask
If we are in control of the passageway
To a satisfying future
Or flushed away by the stories
Of a world gone mad