Mandatory training bogs down the antidotes. Required courses tames the horses. I'm doodling my restless doodles. Hedonists talk about inane activities. "Is this hell," I accidentally ask out loud. Fortunately nobody hears me over their own verbal flow; their self-obsessed vocal show. They talk about all their stuff. Fragments and pieces loosely associated but tightly constrained around themselves. It's like listening to elevator music. It's like house staging. It's all nice and pretty, but inhuman, unreal, fake, dead. Dead in a fancy way. Dead in spirit. Dead in humor. Fat. The instructor says we can take a break. I drift off to far away places. Oceans rage. Zebras bey as the lion chases them. I'm watching God's show, where there is more to see everywhere you go. And more to know. And more to be.
poster child, pose for your picture, comb your hair this way, stretch your arm that way, eat your daily nothing and cry invisible tears because poster children cant be sad, poster children are the face of the future and the future must be bright but the poster child cannot live i the present, they cant breathe anyway
Sunlight dances on her face and the shade fights for her attention, the concrete lifts into a smile when she delights it with every delicate step, she breaths out the sensation of eating ice-cream in the summer and she breaths in the wounds and the scars of everyone around her. Smile bright but her eyes are faded to grey, skin flawless but her cheeks have hollowed inwards, her footsteps grow heavy as the ground shakes beneath her, the shadows creep up her neck as the pavement drags her to the ground. Enduring the agony of breathing in took away the sunlights daughter to the shadows
Searing pain dispersed unevenly throughout you, it's like the aftermath of a knocked over tin of paint splattering cold white walls. Toxic fumes force there way into your system causing a pulsing migraine to develops. The paint is thrown onto the people around you, their clothes and skin now ruined like how you dragged them down when you fell. Falling faster and faster with no destination the sound of the sky engulfing your senses until there's nothing, no one because you hit the ground and there's no coming back up this time
No comprehension came from the white eyes before me. But it was not that hard to grasp. It was as simple as a green ghost floating out of the blades of grass as we inhale them, or as the subtle chimes one can listen to as butterflies rise and fall through porcelain pirouettes, and leave the air with the shape and color of a Han masterpiece. Nonetheless, the bears will not sleep until my umbrella can cover them all. But it is so small, the aluminum skeleton of a spider. Dead spider and crying flea, jumping through the cracks of my darkened wall, burnt by incense and cigarettes. Pale blue light remains through my fingers as I try to guess the screams of your figure under these cold, soft silk robes. it will fall and whistle towards the floor. But your body will always stay still, my young marble soul.