..... Cannot be serious
I hear no laughter....

Each day it’s charted course.
Fate with it’s heavy force,
We are dog toys.
They’ll chew us up the more we squeak.
Do not forget.. You are but the meek.

Obsessions of the heart.
It can be passion,
But it’ll breed desperation and we fall apart.
Heavier and heavier the weight becomes.
Yawns and yawns until you succumb.

The bane wont burn out.
They wont even fade away.
They carry on as false martyrs..
Leading us astray.

Point the finger,
She can blow the whistle.
Insure security and care about the fiscal.
Ignore the truth and fire the missile.

Loss! Oh what is loss?
The pain of the gone.
The rise of the strong?
Accepting this is where we belong?
Loss of soul?
Loss of love?
Loss of pain?
All really the same.

They make us.
The mind being the key.
To disbelieving all you see.
All a struggle to be free.

But free is really an affordance of all fees.
Until you see me as I see you.
Nothing will really be true.
The sun will set.
The moon will fade.
We can all be in this ******* parade.

The truth of the problem was the mind.
A hoax of consumerism and self obsession.
To deny all instinctual truth and never question.
What is the real root of this ******* recession.

sometimes the poles of the earth dont quite line up
i know the physics of the situation doesnt reflect it
but ive seen it happen

if earth is the mother then who is her daughter
and is geomagnetism recessive
or is it more of an affordance
becaue sometimes i feel like ive been near her
like ive felt her gravity tugging at my skin
its hard to describe the way she says my name
when my eyes are tired and my limbs are heavy
i can never tell if its a misfire in my state of partiality
it always does feel like neurons colliding sideways
like rubbing a thistle backwards
but theres a certain charge in the air every second thursday of the week
there are moments of clarity in which i can taste the shift of atmospheric pressure
in which i feel such elusivity formed concrete so briefly
and in these moments i can just make out the reddened sky through my half lidded perceptions
my neck will prickle and my cheeks are always wet with tears but i can never pin exactly why
the trees beyond my window are no longer green
and theres someone at the door i think
but thats when i will fall asleep
i never meet the visitor i never see its face
at least i never quite remember when i wake
but my hands will have a certain texture on those mornings
and it doesnt really wash away but rather fades until i can no longer recall if it ever even happened or if finally i will break