independent declaration

a forest. dark. unfamiliar.
a shoreline. quiet. motionless.
no city. no ripple.
a fire. a flood.

tricycle and briefcase

this utter chaos makes me question. is this really what you meant? soap opera reality? icarus complex? dog eat dog? brother fights brother. genocide takes a backseat to wallstreet. could this really be what you had in mind?
porcelain figurines with long, curly hair and crystal blue eyes sit in the corner collecting dust as big sister raises little brother. she covers his ears and tells him everything will be okay as screams of battery and neglect echoe throughout the house. tears trickle down her cheeks as she whispers to him and tells him, "this is the last time" and that "mommy and daddy really do love each other." it will all be over soon. time for the same old bedtime story. the one with pirates and dinosaurs. maybe even where's waldo. anything to escape from here. she tucks him in, kisses his forehead, and then makes her way to the garage. she opens the door and stares longingly and hopelessly at her favorite, pink tricycle. the ribbons on the handlebars tell of a stability and joy long past. the shiny, silver bell rings like sirens in her frail ears. she shuts the door and wipes her eyes. "that's the past" she tells herself defiantly.
this utter chaos makes me question. is this really what you meant? soap opera reality? icarus complex? dog eat dog? brother fights brother. genocide takes a backseat to wallstreet. could this really be what you had in mind?
in a world of performance, he found his place in the monotony. full speed ahead. he rose fast and worked hard, the only victim was his passion. he chocked his dreams into submission. holding his heart at arms lenght, slowly his veins froze. his lungs became machines. every morning dragging his rigid skeleton along for the morning commute. identity in profession. his only company, the cubicle. every smile plastic, fake. he covered his desolate insides with fancy and expensive costumes. gucci this and prada that. leather briefcase. spotless black shoes. anything to keep life on the surface.
this utter chaos makes me question. is this really what you meant? soap opera reality? icarus complex? dog eat dog? brother fights brother. genocide takes a backseat to wallstreet. could this really be what you had in mind? how did we end up here? a world so pure in its infancy. we built this foreign land with our will. our hearts are the breeding ground for this pandemic. i can barely see truth and hope through this tapestry of disaster that we weave. beyond ourselves You wait with the cure. You are the only stable ground left in this shifting mirage of promise.

mostly grey...and a little white

ad excuse for a saint. a life in ruin. mastering the art of spinning webs and burning bridges. empty words casting shallow shadows on my face. a whole eternity spent designing this neon tombstone, the moment passed me by. i always watch it come and go with each motion in my chest. there's always been a flicker of hope. repentance. redemption. how great the climb, and how great am i. pride returns. viscious cycle complete. i prefer narcolepsy. finding promise in nightmares and foreign lands. i live between bloodline and flat line.

trebble cliff

i avoid mirrors unless they can bend truth. beauty's at my fingertips but i'm in love with something hiddeous. redefining recession. i have to find the bullet that put his hole through my heart. beauty's at my fingertips but i'm in love with a cannibal. i have to find a scalpel. i will cut until i remove the deceitful phantom inside. beauty's at my fingertips but i'm in love with destruction. the barrel with put an end to the magician and his curse. beauty's at my fingertips but i'm in love with despair. i can find no lying glass. the bullet does not exist. the scalpel cut deep only to carve out debris from bone and limb. the idle trigger could find no illusionist and the doctor could remove no spell. beauty's at my fingertips but i'm in love with myself.