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

we've been fighting over the same things for thousands of years
religion, money, power, land
things that keep us separate
things that keep us fighting

keeping us in the dark

shouldn't we have realized by now
that categorizing humans stagnates progression

because when you're blinded by

ego
hate
ignorance

"differences"

how will you know which direction is forward?

What makes us different
can not compare
to reasons we're the same.

we're the same, don't they understand?

'they' love
we love

'they' pretend salt water has never flooded their eyes
and us,
well, we pretend too.

And though we have yet to see their tears,
and they have yet to notice ours

the blind can still feel
the blind can still listen
the blind can still hope
the blind can still pretend

Pretending we don't all shut our eyes every night,
hoping things will be alright.

hoping blindly
they/us/we
will open our eyes tomorrow

and stop fighting those who love and cry like us.
Realize how alike we humans are.