and inferior we are not
you and me
biological ancestors
creator
mother father
equivalent
we are identical companions
in this parallel universe
realise the existence of human rights
and the extreme planetary cleanse

Finger on the trigger
But the trigger finger isnt my own
Stainless depression bullets
Dipped in anxiety
Laced with a society
That'll never accept me

We’re born,
We die.
In between,
we figure out why

The meaning of life is love letters to yourself,
The meaning of life is facing the dark inside,
and coming out the other side.

But mostly,
It's hope.
It's the sun rising after a lonely night.
It's the rain tumbling onto your upturned face.
It's an old poem, a dusty book.
But most of all,
It's joy

She died drunk as desolation
played her a gentle hymn
with flies crawling from under her tongue
and leaving her to her grave.

My tears made spots in
the dirt on her face,
we were in love with the chase of
highs we no longer attained.

Like sunken bug bites on her arm
with cuts all along her thigh,
I couldn't keep her from harm so we
cried through the nights as our highs
damaged us as much as the lows.

One day she moved no more,
having begged and beaten on the door
for too long till her hands were bruised,
and her soul failed her after so much disuse.