The dust layers have fell.
I am under.
The white of nothing traps me in.
Sitting in place
But still moving.
It’s amazing I’m not
Motion sick.
All the unnatural turning.
The tuning of finer pieces.
The precise ear.
The delicate tone.
Annoyed, we sit by the phone.
Hoping the ring of opportunity presents itself.


We are too good at pretending patience.
The cold bites us repeatedly
We stand firm with the intolerance for it.
It backs down and we win.
It is harder to completely change the situation.
Make it come for us.
We just don’t think it should.
So we wait.
So many of us fall asleep.
We never hear its surprising tone
Ring out like from an angel’s mouth.
I’m wide awake.
Sick of waiting.
Trying to break the world
Pierce time and make it mine.
Force the situation to come.
But I know not what I am looking for.
A certain contentment in how I suffer.
Never losing sight of my anger.
Justified but plentiful.
The black silence never suits me for long.
A quiet mind is unheard of.
Its quick before all the sewage is released.
Into the streets.
Clogging my airways.
Released out through as many pores as I can find.
But it still builds up.
How to clean out for good?
How to take advantage of something you wish
Didn’t exist at all.
My downfall.


I’m working on coming up.
Keep putting me down.
I will not absorb you.
I am too comfortable
Absorbing further parts of me.
Maybe how you can affect them, appropriately.
I don’t discriminate.
Love is love
Recognized only,
Wholeheartedly.
No brain involved.
Disconnected
Perfectly caught up in the moment.
The dance on the air
As it blows you further up
Then down,
And all around.
No sense meant to be made.
Betray all humanity
Left in your soul
To amplify the senses
And drink them all.
Just because you can.
Just because it made you feel better
Than ever
Than everything they prescribed.
There isn’t much left to hide.
We hold onto scraps of shadows
All been given in to the light.
Transformative reasoning
Progressing.
But not fast enough.


Ground beneath the tires of the rebellion, slowly surfacing.
Dying for nothing
So that something may one day be.
But never for me.
I am meant as the in between.
The place from here to there.
Not very glorious.
But our names will shine perfect and loud
Out on the otherside
To wherever we are marching to.
Whatever they paint us as.
We will be better than we are now.
We will exist.
At least collectively
The way they write us in.
In sin, or in stars.
Always knowing we were the latter, anyhow.