#moralcompass
The city hums a fractured tune tonight,
A discordance that seeps into my bones.
I walk these streets, bathed in electric light,
And feel a chill that’s deeper than the stones.
We built this world, with clever, grasping hands,
A towering cage of steel and brittle glass.
But something broke, beyond all our commands,
And shattered peace, like shadows quickly pass.
Anxious eyes, charged with desperate hunger for something unnamable,
Reflect a collective yearning for connection and meaning.
Humanity feels adrift, lost in a spiritual fog, disconnected from its inherent goodness and moral compass,
Drifting further from its ideals with each passing moment.
And all I feel is weary, heavy dread,
To watch us stumble, lost inside our heads.
Jul 28, 2025
Jul 28, 2025 at 12:53 AM UTC
Selective Extortion/Moralities Abortion
God isn't wrong
But that doesn't make you right
And if I'm "wrong"
Surely there will be a smite tonight
Purely insolent
You're another desolated sycophant
Destitute and reprobate
But that doesn't mean you have to
Hate me by spewing diatribe
To resonate with your own cries
That my ethos is fallacy
Fake to you but real to me
Reel to real
Can't you see
It's immaculate perception
Miscarried contraception
Selective extortion
Moralities abortion
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 2:12 PM UTC
My parents gave me a pink childhood framed with lace and luxury--
but a black stain has spread there, deep as the amount of time
I’ve spent thinking about what people are capable of, and how they can stand
hanging a mirror in every bathroom, because water cannot clean people
of the lie they told their brother or the betrayal inflicted against their friend,
some wrongs of which may never be realized, but will always remain
in the form of a new freckle on my left cheek or shadow beneath my eye.
And I am sorry, because I should have sooner heeded my mother’s words
when she told me I was the moral compass grounding you stonedust streets.
Your childhood resembled a light bulb broken before it tasted electricity,
no one taught you North from South and how different the terrain may become
when you find yourself in the mountains with only sandals on your feet.
I had been that for you, and you told me as much every weekend we spent
riding in the bed of my father’s pickup truck and shouting against wind-gusts
that threatened to carry our voices away from one another--
I have sinced learned there are many ways to **** a person.
I killed you when I stole your sense of direction like floorboards from beneath
your cracked and bleeding feet, and allowed you to fall--who knows how far--
landing in a pile of skin-biting needles and leftover sediment,
the very bottom of brown-glass bottles strewn across the floor.
Staying would have saved you, I’m sure, and I’ll never forget that I turned away
out of fear, cowardice, because I hated the sight of your skin-and-bone crowd,
friends in name but not in heart, and left you lost among them,
And you who knew no better remained, your humanity
expelled with each smoke-laden breath and then evaporating, nonextant.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC