The routine sun rose

Sinking thinking
A swollen scene of city wonder
Small color blunders bleed the jungle dry
But I try
And that's something the camaraderie sighs at
But still with that fact,
I go.

Faux lives carriage by
Made of paper, made of dimes
Teenage crimes can supply felicity

IN public SIMPLICITY.

Omit apperception moreover audition:
Copy and paste the taste you had when you were young and drag it to oblivion.

for the eventual:
the sensual isn't essential

Sterile stillness
A distilled interest
A big build of impress to egress the regrets,
Cigarettes can't succor this sucker to bet
His best (like the rest),

into smoke
into flame

fear of monotony, seer to blame;
pioneer to fame of the same game
To claim a name and maim my own,
My fathers own:

For fleeting glory and some old stories
To evade the per diem prosaic
and italicize our mosaic lives
On large screens for husbands and wives

but why?

I won't,
I don't see myself in my grandmothers eyes
but her spirit, perpetual cries, she sighs
Every breath of,
'hold on
Be strong
You've got the brawn of the dawn'

But I had forgone and withdrawn,
longed for the absorption of the networking,
a distortion and abortion of palpability.
If validity is what you're looking for,

*why do you want so much more?