You were once a puzzle; fully formed with every piece in place
And then a tsunami came and destroyed you.
The relentless waves took every piece one by one until
you were gone.
Your pieces are scattered near and far
Some are right by the shore, waiting to be found
Others are further, miles away in unknown lands
And still others are completely useless
Their colors and patterns and shapes turned into
Unidentifiable bits of dust and decay.
There is no way to piece you back together
though I have tried and cried and pleaded to the ocean.
Is it easier to feel the pain of endlessly trying to find and restore and piece you back together only for you to jump in the water and wash yourself away again,
Or to burn the pieces on the shore like the useless time capsules they are?
You have already started to throw your whisky-soaked pieces into a raging fire, screaming for the ocean to suffocate you with its salty hands.
Can I lend you some of my own pieces because
Surely we have similar pictures to piece together?
Can you please help me?
Every time I try to give you a piece of myself I realize
That mine are in color
And yours have only ever been in black and white.
I have learned that the world around me is only as sustainable as
My efforts to keep my puzzle alive
That is why for you the world has stopped.
Like you, I am colder and harsher than ever before
But I heard that once you live in a cold climate
You start to get used to the snow.
What if **** was actually nice?
Filled to the brim with coke and ice?
Incense and spice in a little holding device?
Cherries and cinnamon ooze and diffuse
Mixing with sin, giving us an excuse
As to why those who abuse and ******
Smell so much like gin, maybe candy?
Capturing our souls with the promise of Brandy
A bottle of goose helps us to let loose
While the devil dances and the flame advances
Once you're in **** there are no second chances
He advises you stay, entices you to play
Handing you a cup with some coke and some ice
With snake eyes on the dice his tongue is a vice,
"What if **** was actually nice?"
Living in a saturated fear
Always waiting for a better year
The snow on the ground is pink with silence
The men are in combat, loving the violence
The shoreline smells like hot gasoline
don’t be afraid of the war machine
The snow on the ground is pink with blood
from a chemical day and a chemical fire
There's a chemical fragrance, a chemical flood
Women and children crying and weeping
We don’t care about women unless they are sleeping
We care about children, molded however we like
Put them in front of a screen and their mind goes on strike
To reason, compassion, and autonomy alike.
So the war machine carries on
The chemical dawn.
You are a math problem that I cannot solve
your jumbled numbers quick to dissolve
into an ocean of unidentifiable pieces
where a fisherman catches and then releases
an inverse Laplace transformation.
I'm failing differential equations send help
Sometimes I think that we build armor out of feathers
knowing the dangers of war,
But acting surprised when
the bullet rips through the down.