maternal devestation

majestic beauty, floating on air with each step. she hides pearls behind that glossy red gate. her silver, starry eyes hide secrets she'll never tell. black hair falls innocently in her face and casts a shadow of inner serenity. her red dress still burned in my retina. a form brushed elegantly with purity. how did such a delicate mother give birth to these crippled leeches? beauty with millions of decrepit children. with eyes, but stitched shut. with ears, but no brain. with a mouth, but no voice. a spinal column, with no vertebrae. knots of interwoven bone, with no feeling. dressing in robes and armor. to hide the tangled web of black, pusling viens beneath. they pretend to be more than a mere passenger-seeking parasite. they call for thier masks. thier hollow screetching deafens her. never the same. a new mask for every ocassion. they have no identity, they have no need for one. every mask burning hotter. every mask cutting deeper. every mask sears and pierces flesh. faces shaped and reshaped. welcomed deformity. celebrate tonight. for the gallows await the morning. prepare the guillotine! we will paint the streets red. sterilize the needles. expectant mother prays for miscarriage. our great walls will fall. our swords, broken at the helm. arrows reign the skies. our city stands in ruins. an insatiable fire consumes our dreams. crops turn to dust as livestock feast on the farmer. if this is our baptism, then we all shall surely drown. renaissance arrives! the craddle holds hope. you expect me to lead this deathmarch! i'm as guilty as them. but the glorious mask will put an end to all that.

idealistic realism

in a society built by caffeine and machinery we raised a generation of poets. send them to war.

people are a peculiar sort

here we swim. removing the teeth of the great shark only to return to the palm of the giant. yellow tape designating a graveyard. we follow the beaver, competing for death's affection. surrounded by reality we bow our hearts to our wooden gods that we keep on strings. we're nothing but occupied ants with a deadline. we're nothing but camoflauge skin stretched over pointed ribs. we continue to settle in this land. we are bound so tightly by the clocks we cherish. if there are no bandanas, then we are all bandits. to put it simply, reno forgot about her gold rush.

technologically speaking

to whom it may concern:
im sry 2 inform u thru this txt but ystrdy ur drst mthr died when her ruf colpsd :(
ttyl

if ignorance is bliss, im the happiest person alive

strike up the band, i can see the procession of needy sinners. it's time to make a masterpiece! take a number, you can keep your coat but leave your brain. conformity in the form of a killer. we leave when our dreams lay lifeless on the floor. the great lizard waits patiently outside. his eyes burn the morning sky and fire pours from his lips. with one bite he will expose a maze of bones and spill the flowing seas contained inside. i'll kiss your bite marks while toxins rush to your heart. but please don't bleed on the carpet. make a hole in the roof and let the snow gather inside, a monument of perfection. a symbol of our souls! but oh how quickly it melts! i would gladly stretch my hand out to the broken-hearted widow on the sidewalk. just make sure the bright flash of your camera embraces my silhouette.

all creativity and beauty is in utter jeopardy

the hum of the air raid sirens fills the calm sky. pleasant white noise. prestige burried under rubble. we live between fear and paranoia. the sun steals our prays. the night restores panic. fortune smiles down on the sleepers that line our streets, and she blesses them with undisturbed dreams. nashville was nothing but a name. put your faith in the blood soaked homes. if destiny drips, so do we. underneath the remains that our ancestors dedicated their souls to, a new discovery. cross paths with uniquely meshed wood and string. another artifact to add to our collection. how strange their obsessions. no use to bury the dead, it's not a dagger. burn the wood, string the bows. who would have guessed, at the end of it all we would find ourselves back at the beginning.

learning to manage

manipulate every breath. control every heart beat. framing pictures of eclipses. white fades. days blur. salvation in aisle four. arms race to redemption. american dream or second hand nightmare. industry swallowed improvement. i will lead the funeral procession before the parade. fulfilling my postmodern meaning. bask in pious pride or bathe in a moral massacre. i feel the wind and hear the leaves blow. but all i see is glass and cement. i am blind past the branches. you are the air in my throat. but i will trap you in my chest. we will bury simplicity under a stage.