Monday

The whole world can be so goddamn overwhelming. You’ve got graveyards next to freeways and no one to pay enough attention. Because if you hesitate, that could be you lying there in the dirt, six feet under finally free of the rotting in your brain. All questions are answered all aching released.

Seems like a perfect solution to living. Death, I mean. The only thing keeping me on my own two feet is the idea of maybe giving this earth some kind of beauty. All of the people running their mouths about what other people are saying. But you will fall down too, six feet under stiff and blue that will be you there. I guess all we need is truth. Teaching us that our breath isn’t wasted sometimes we all need a reason to keep breathing.

Beating hearts racing each other for some kind of feeling, there’s no telling who will win and who will lose it’s all about the sentiment. And here I hold my heart in my hands and I can see its bleeding down my fixed legs to my shoes the concrete the dirt, that dirt we’ll become. No more washing it down the sink to become clean— no more being afraid of what we are. Energy passing back and forth and back and forth.

Poetry is here to tell you nothing is wasted. We’re here to give voices to the voiceless, the wind and the wild and the world. Universes exist in silence. Well we’ve got voices and we’ve got stories to fill these mysteries and moments where we’re just punching in the time card and waiting in lines. Stop go stop go but wait, won’t you listen?

The silence has a lot to say.

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