We are controlled by man
a man who is never changed
he sits with a wand of truth and passes us all, over and over again
we cant stop it, nor do we try
for our lives are like flowers,
in the end we will die

We all weep and moan, as the cycle goes on
moving with the world
crawling upon ourself,
choking on our own food,
and beating us down, with a simple tune.
and inspite of this,
we move with the world

cant you see?
everything is perfect and going fine
as long as you move with the man
that points the wand, over and over again

Why not, you say?
ill tell you why,
you see that pile of red gush and lumps
that seems to rises every month
it contain the souls and brains
of those who decided to rebel
and for this, my soul will never change.

I hate society.
I hope it turns its back at me.
Becuase I dont want to see its face in mine anymore.

i always wanted a my grandma to sing me to sleep. something soothing and
underlying that hits you deep inside, right before you close your eyes. maybe a
memory, or a lucid dream that sparks your intellect. like the depth of my eyes,
i can see straight into my own heart, and not have enough thread to fix it once
again. its a funny shade of blue. a man once said i had the most beautiful eyes.
of course, like any naive girl, you assumed they were lying. but today i knew
she was not. some simple friend for whom i have not known for very long, said
she had never noticed how strangely beautiful my eyes were. like a crystal ball
in front of the fire, i could stand it all. these eyes kill me. my memories and
once cherished people. i always find myself back in the same place i stood
before. helpless, crying, alone. all my life i can remember creating happiness
for others, trying to soothe their souls of platonic caring. and now, here i am
lost inside it again. watching people bloom together because i thought it was my
own happiness, my own destiny.
i cant stop crying. for one moment sometimes i think nothing can stop me.
others, its all psychological mania. i cant stop thinking about how much ive
messed up myself, my life, my own friends. im tired of being on the outside
looking in. im tried of crying myself to sleep because everything i do is wrong.
im sick of not knowing who i am inside. like a dreaded disease wrapped around my
face. my acne. or more likely, my eyes. the most deadly part of me. staring out
with my brain stuck in.
ive never wanted to die. innately afraid of death i hate it. watching it.
believing in it. yet i find myself wondering if it would be the answer.
i just told a friend down the hall, i wanted to run far away in the middle of nowhere,
and run naked, pick flowers, be crazy. maybe fly with the clouds, like rainbow
on a rainy day. never 2 places at once. oh, and how in my dreams i would fly.
falling, scared, and woundless. always waking up before id hit the ground. maybe
tonight,
i will.

shoes on the telephone wire

The city streets
with children skipping ropes,
and dogs running wild
fades into night with the automatic lights.

You look above to see a pole.
fused energy inside a box,
with tangled wires
all interconnected along the skyline.

you follow the wires
almost hypnotically,
as the car moves on.

the lines roll
like waves upon a sea of sheet music.
blank of notes,
you continue to read them.

Scanning the rhythm,
a bump appears.

Old shoes
hung by their laces.

A hidden message
of desperation,
change,
time.

Frozen impressions of life,
like tattered wings
wanting to fly.

The knotted notes
lay swaying,
waiting to sing.

over and over
the days passed by
with strawberry gashes inside her skin
churning like her stomach
the gashes expanded, wrinkling her skin
over and over
they ate away at her
with the happy smile stretched upon her face
like glycerin, it shimmered
nothing mattered
as long as she kept laughing
while the strawberry gashes ate her soul

road trip

watch out, he is watching you.
a little paper bag by the side of the road
-is talking.
a fuzzy tail circulates
around the dusty ground.

he catches you.
your eyes will fade
hypnotized by the silent sounds
that run into me.

this is no game.
those nails are real
as the scares on his face.
a gesture,
waving goodbye from the troubles
and hidden fear.

can you feel him
crunch the bitter ends?
digesting the marbles
to feel the back of your brain.

hold tight,
remember the road.
it's only a stop sign-
a bush-a stream.
wild passions hallucinate in the sky line.
kicking you through time
while cutting holes in a paper bag...