this is the way the world ends
this is the way the world ends
not with a bang but with a

high price of admission, that being the innate circumstances wherein his ego germinates and grows into two things at the same time: externally pleasant and internally grotesque.

this is the way the world ends
this is the way the world ends
not with a bang but with a

long stretch of beach lined with hospital beds, pyres alight to the God of False Flags and Falser Hope, long speeches and poor teachers getting too close to the water.

this is the way the world ends
this is the way the world ends
not with a bang but with a

difference of opinion - the trickle-down economics of not giving a **** about anyone except one's inner sanctum, from the unrepresented in their little mud huts, to the shadow skulls with buzzing sinuses; Everything, Performing the Dance of the Hearse Driver.

this is the way the world ends
this is the way the world ends
not with a bang but with a

whimper, courtesy of yours truly

I dont write these words down thinking about how they will be perceived and read and interpreted long after I'm buried and dead.
But i want it to be made totally clear, hell put it on my gravestones head.

Im a proud snowflake, yes that's what i said.

What you see a slanderous term i see as a badge of honor.
I'll take your harsh comments and generalizations about my generation gladly, because we saw the world was going to **** us over and we said "no more, not again."
When you call us entitled, we simply laugh. because you benefited from a system that ***** what little life we have left out of us. You prospered ad infinitium while what little hope we had turned to dust.
We're a group of people that did everything you said, go to school, work hard, and we still saw the economy you put gaping holes into collapse like the tunnel of a mole.

Those jobs you promised... gone with the wind like Scarlett O'Hara. But allow me to clarify in that i know that not all of you are so stuck in your roots and ways that its frightening. But i will say that we're tired of trying to recapture that same lightning.
I'm tired of being told I'm too young to know what life will do... it'll ******* the first chance it gets and if not itll **** you.
And as i close this out i want to leave no doubt in your minds

I would rather see those younger than me protesting against violent crimes than watching funeral Homes with longer and longer lines.

The biggest mistake our society made
Was thinking all of our experiences are universal, one in the same
So know when we say society is to blame
We can look back now at this mistake we made.

Although our paths may cross our roads are very different
We can intersect and end up in different places spaces occupied by life's unchanging eyes
But despite this interplay and crossroading we still can't seem to find harmony despite all our advances and abilities to share our lives and perspectives with others
For all the hate i see out there, you'd think there'd be just as many lovers

The biggest mistake our society made
Was thinking all of our experiences are universal, one in the same
So know when we say society is to blame
We can look back now at this mistake we made.

There are so many voices in this global choir
So many choices at the places we go to, it takes less energy to love and unite and we perspire to hate and divide, not aspire to be as one gigantic family under the sun
And if not now, then when will that wonderful day come?

The biggest mistake our society made
Was thinking all of our experiences are universal, one in the same
So know when we say society is to blame
We can look back now at this mistake we made.

Between humid dew and gilded light you ventured
Drinking in earthy mahogany hues
Men spoilt from their discomfort beside you
Touched by their patronage
You bloomed

Flowering tales of a world
On the cusp of progress and historical legacy
The torn flesh of your snowy mare
The warmth of blood and terror

Dripping
Peeling
Decaying

With my eyes
I taste your fear

Good intentions
all misconstrued
to emo-orthodoxy.

slaving away
for hours on end
flipping burgers
and sighing inside, knowing that your life is emptie

how are we going to fix this problem?
corporations are evil
but what should we do?

we the peepole must stand united
liberty and justice for all
we must fight
and that is why we need you

oxygen
molecules
h20
o2
co2
its overwhelming sometimes
how things can combine
to make new things

chemistry
biology
aquatic biology
its overwhelming sometimes
how when you think about new things, you have questions
and those questions turn into answers
that only leave you with more questions

books
magazines
newspapers
peoms
its overwhelming sometimes
that the written word, a beautiful method of self-expression
has been corrupted
by Them

The ones that manipulate
that scorch
that ravage the land

we must stand up
we must fight
and only then
can we be free
can we be underwhelmed
we will be strong
with everyone fighting
forming a human wall

we will be stronk.

I once heard that art is most beautiful when imitateing life . I never understood this; imitation infers a falsehood, a lack of authenticity. Art can only be what it is, unapologetically,It can’t build a facade.
I ,the one who is deemed alive, lie habitually to those around me and worse my self.
I am a performer playing the part of least resistance and greatness propitiation. Solitarily contemplating a collective I want to both develop beyond the horizon or envelop in the flames of a star.
conundrums are the base of these self destructive edifice. Best escape is outside of self, either on the wall in the air or on a shelf.  

Now who imitates who,
When One feels most real imitating art?

Transient summers,
Forbidden Bluebell fields,
Tough times symbolise the pouring of ales.


Manicured lawns,
Cider drinking Saturdays,
Routine discussions about the sun and rain.


Hijinx down the watering hole,
The great unwashed congregating on Market Day,
Smog penetrating the lungs,
Forlorn eyes, social decay.


Leaders of austerity,
Riddled with oppressive policies,
The tedious endurement of the morning commute.


Sirens cut across Westminster,
A quintessential rave anthem,
Boxing Day sales,
Sheer pandemonium.


Revelling in satire,
And curtain twitching,
Reading racists newspapers,
Disenfranchised youth.


Icky dance floors with raging hormones,
Breath heavy with hops and acrid tobacco.


**** drops and winding waists,
Ladies bathroom, evil eyes exchanged.


Sundays spent hanging,
And Mondays depressed,
Holy communions,
Cladded in your best dress.


Suppressed thoughts,
And baited breath
An Albion filled with oppression and dread.