chiffon tights on her broken knees
she clings to dear life but she aims to please
she wants nothing more than to be seen
but this is her life, sweet Eveline

this is the world; this is reality
but she's filled her mind with insanity
what's coming to her: she always sees
death is upon her or so she believes

so last night she told me
"goodbye my friend"
"i'm sorry to say this, but
this is the end"

i tried to make her
stay the night
but she ran away,
out of my sight

I don’t play my mandolin everyday anymore,
let alone my guitar or tin whistles
I can’t let this die
I listened to 7 year old Japanese math rock
and want just a speck of that
An identity where I can sift right through
all this mediocre destruction all around
No one even has the gall to admit they’re killing
or the decency to even cover it up anymore
They videotape themselves dancing and
murdering kids for lebensraum
then turn around and say “no we’re not”

I’m tired of surface level house maintenance
followed by immobile phone scrolls
I’m looking for that lesson we’ll all learn
after finally going too far
I won’t play the victim or the hero no more
I did my part and now I’m too old
I need deeper art to escape samsara for good
and maybe that’s the best I can do comrades

I’m sick of details grown so scattered and thin
My whole past feels like entrails
smeared across vast desserts
There used to be rainforests here
but now it’s hard to find the pictures

Just when things almost get too competent and nice
they let decadence do its worse
out of fear that the improvements would make goods and services
too cheap not to be free
Socialism’s bad for business owners
so we lay off the workers and overcharge even more
Let the octogenarian billionaires buy up more water and air
to keep the fellas in the favelas gnashing and grim

Bunker complexes, spaceships, missiles coated in spent uranium;
these are all more important than starving children
Why do the poor keep having poor kids?
Still a conundrum
We gave them a chance to compete
some ephemeral time ago and they blew it
What can we do?
We tried to teach a man to fish…
Imagine Jesus Christ just giving folks fish and bread
for nothing in return?

Hearing a voice sounding familiar
Making my way to the living room
Looking at a person with an old face
Rembering it was my grandfather.
Looking at him made me cry
He was sick, couldn't talk or walk.
It hurt looking at him.
It was like bullets shooting through my stomach.

Seeing my grandpa smiling at me
Telling me he is okay
I knew he was wrong
Leading him to the bedroom
Crash! He is hurt

Blood in his nose
Hearing him cry
My dad helps him up
My tears flowing like a river
Next day came
He is lying down
Lying down with him made me safe
Looking up on his face
Seeing him smile down at me
Midnight has come
Seeing him asleep
Waking him up for a glass of milk
Shaking him
No movement
Crying, screaming, and yelling
I knew my grandfather  was dead

    By Eveline