Your stethoscopes, ECGs, LifePaks, nor any of your monitors can read for this. A frequency so subtle, so steady. You can try to measure, calculate, approximate, only to find failure. Failure for your lack of feeling. You can't fake nature. You can't grow an artificial limb. Who knows if you'll ever be heard if you try to. We know what we want to hear, but the facade on wheels wants to be heard. You can hear it all you want, but will you listen? Blame the speaker, not the audi
My knowledge is power, But who is all powerful? I know my origin, But where do we originate? In a world of heresy, I speak of blasphemy. Where is your proof? Who even are you? My knowledge is substance, But what is substantial? I know my location, But in the universe, where are we located? In a world of politics, I speak of agnostics. Where is your evidence? Are we physically present? We come from nothing, When we expire will there be nothing? A beginning without explanation,
Buckets of fresh milk and clear water were being poured on a black statue of a deity. That is all going down in the drain. The supposed saintly priest, with half-open eyes and a monotone voice, babbled sacred stories. Stories about penurious and hungry children who were craving for just one bite or one sip, surprisingly finding gleaming gold coins on their beds. They cannot be serious. My fasting mother nudged my slouched shoulder, ushering me to sing along, and soon my voice
You turtle further into your home. Your shell does little to loosen your chains. Our cascade of words pushes you toward a rock. I want your shell broken, but I want not to break your skin. I realize I am nothing more than a blind guy and you, my seeing eye beaming ray of sunshine. It’s not a rock, you tell me it’s part of your routine, as my tears turtle me further into my tomb.
The chain that linked me and you together is no more broken covered in rust and decay corroded in your selfish ways and your dyer quest to an end. Ended with me having to break away. I bury the memory of the man that I once knew the strong funny and annoying clown that I called my brother is gone, it’s up to me to pick up the pieces of this chain and throw them away
Standing alone in the middle of a foreign ground, I see you in all your loneliness, because you left as you always do. You left your country, again, to find diversity by bridging with another completely new culture, which you’ll find out to be just the same as the others.
Knowing this is one of the last times to ever see that person, The soul turning and compressed, expressing the feelings you still have left. Having to constantly remind yourself to not get depressed as you feel your heart nighting to rest. But still, it won’t be easy and you’ll have to give it your all to force those feelings into a pile and just light them on fire. You lay there knowing they’re gone and reminiscing over thoughts of all the good times you had and what could h
4,224 chairs were lined up against the slate wall. We circled them like dogs chasing their tails until, dead, the music stopped and we sat. Minus six, that includes the red head I catch you staring at in Geography. 12 hours later. Over 300 listens of “Tequila” endured. That song used to bring back memories of watching The Sandlot with my dad, subbing out dinner for stale ruffles and marveling at Wendy Peffercorn. My mind doesn’t drift anymore. My only focus is the chair. Ther
for how it waits, like horses thumping at the gates to finally race at the sound of your voice. Perhaps she is the most guilty for what her mother mocks her of when the dishes are left undone: You must have selective hearing, she laughs and pinches each of her ears, that never seem to hear all the warnings. So loud, like the announcers placing bets on if they’ll ever reach the finish line.