We were young
but still not old
stuck between telling
and still being told
trying to resale lies
we once were sold
and we wonder why
our souls cry in pain
as we deliberate
which ones will be sold today

We are born
Put into school
Subjected to follow particular norms
Educated to get employment
Work to earn an income
Spend for our wants
Work to earn an income
Spend for our needs and wants
Marry and start a family
Bear children and begin their cycle
Work to earn an income
Spend for our needs and their wants
Work to earn an income
Save for their future
Spend for our needs and their wants
Grow old and alone with the spouse
Retire
Rest in peace
Reincarnation
We are born

I come from darkness
And such as a moth
Beating itself
To death
Against a flame,
In your arms, I burn
Just the same.


F.Z.N

It reminded me of the way you talk

Repetitive.

A perfection of revolutions.

Telling me of things already known.

I tasted the ignorance on your lips.

Fill me up with your everything.

Your breath. The wind.

Stale air.

I don’t feel cool.

You’re pushing air in circles.

Chopping up all the times I asked for forgiveness.

Forgive me.

Until this moment.

Please give me a breeze of all the moments you have watched me act ungodly.

Alexander the Great is dead,
so is Ghandi,
Napoleon,
JFK,
and a good few other... billion.
I will die too someday,
hopefully not tomorrow,
hopefully not today
But... maybe.
We are not gods,
But we like to act it,
rulers and slaves,
all eat, sleep, die and ****.
In all of our glory,
we are all the same,
hoping someone will retell our story,
and that it is not too lame.
But in the end,
whether we die or end up in some eighth grade history book,
we die,
and worms eat us,
like animals... no, not like,
Are.

In a group of strangers his hands are the most familiar while
spinning, fumbling, tumbling around until
his lips begin to eradicate the faint taste of a man once
held so close to my heart but now as he inches forward
as his drunken eyes lay solely on mine
I can’t help but let him play a while he
pulls me in close to lift the bruises from my neck
tracing the path of familiar lips
hiked by the others who reeked of cigarettes and cheap *****
a feeling too much like home

the things I wanna see
the things I wanna be
the fragrance and what seems to appear
when my mind creates what isn't there
just look away and feel no despair
i'll never be anything to "you"
no that I know you, I actually have no clue

and my mind will rot away,
discovering more to know less
what I dine for is never sane
at least for you, your at one point quenched
but for me, the drive is from getting lost
I always thirst for more

out of ignorance once I bore
a cup of sand I once held
the gratitude I had was hidden from my conscience
but one day I stumbled upon a beach
the sand in my hand
no longer the same for me
I tried dropping the sand into its place
I observed a rejection of tension
I switched what was in my cup
I couldn't bear no more
I need a sand box
I need more
even if I owned one though
it could only be no more to me
this pattern of reality
it crinkles me as I can't live without it