hateful and unapologetic at its finest degree.
cutting and breaking the limbs of our lungs and the safety of our minds.
you walk alone at night, to only find yourself at peace with the crickets singing a symphonty of sonnets and sonatas. the way the lights swirls under the lights towered over the pavement. mist is your friend at this point and the only solace youve had for 5 minutes. the air is sweet, but it will never be sweet enough for me.

There is nothing better than
your eyes looking like the
moonlight under
the sonata
The feeling of ecstasy running through
your very veins
Everything is content and
at ease with our nature

Oh old crooked piano,
shining through your very eyes, rolling at the peak - the nature
Tilting and rolling our heads with every
quiver and quaver
Shaking out salt through our pores
Hearing every movement, feeling it assault you
with dopamine and the
interminable display of serotonin.

If I were to die,
right at this very moment
I'd allow caducity to threaten me with its structure,
and to touch every part of me with its sweetness.
Not only that but its
every movement,
every ******,
every crescendo
and i'd allow it to rock me back and forth
soothing every bone and every follicle.
I'd allow it to run right through me,
until my ebullience is no longer.

I shall be free.

My voice is louder than the amphetamines that pump through my system,
Like a myriad of violins,
preaching on a soapbox.
Surrounded by self-proclaimed writers,
who control their mindless devotions with their pen to paper.
They believe,
not only in themselves,
but in the system.
They don't challenge what's really happening,
and is instead,
hazed by propaganda.

I am told that confidence is one thing,
and being self sufficient is another.
But i think they amalgamate to each other,
like the rivers do in my head.

We wonder,
what if the dust on the moon really is acidic?
what do we do then?

I give my money to my hierarchy above,
and I challenge what really is happening.

euphoric and proud, we danced like the children we were supposed to be,
brushing pencil shavings off our desks like our mothers did to our hair.
forming daisy chains like dignified humans.
The Sun beams on our faces as if it was designed to highlight our youth.

A punch in the gut, a knife drawn to the heart,
the inability to entangle a simple breath.
You lift the crease of your face up to seem gracious.
You lift your chest up to see if it will split, like the carcass of a rabbit that didn't quite decay underneath all that snow.
Your pulse softens like the tiny pieces of eraser entangled with faded words.
Your chest takes longer to inhale and only you and everyone else around you knows whats coming.

Cracked lips was the worst that we ever suffered.

Your breath is still warm and it still comforts the animals that surround your mouth

Lucy is talking about how her father fed her pigs and then slaughtered them. I think to myself, this is strange behavior.

*I know that your calloused fingertips caught on the cotton of her sleeves when you finally reached caducity. They told be that it was slow and pain free, and usually the mouth will taste of salt. That day was when the alloy of the sky grew to meet with the clouds, where salt loved to hide away. Your soon-to-be corpse was finally concluded, and I forgot to say goodbye.

We lay there,
heavy breathing and sweat
accumulated in the stratosphere,
My head on your chest,
Like the process of auscultation,
Childs play and the air is sweet,
My intellectual wonders and dances around,
Like sweet ballerinas on a stage.
And I wonder,
"How long will you last,
how long will you stay before you have to go?".
Like tears exuding down a gutter,
I cease the liquid from flooding
and I instead enjoy the moment.

Laying in the algae bed,
Soaking up the sunshine,
Festering in the daytime hours,
No one knows your name,
You never sleep at night.
There is a cure for this,
It all starts with one deep breath,
But the air was never sweet enough,
Underneath your fingertips.