I put my phone away and intrepidly look up at the path ahead. I am in a state of metempsychosis. My soul has been converted from a robotic slave to a free human being. I am in control of my thoughts and desires. I feel like I can accomplish anything! But when I try to lock eyes with other humans, I am in awe. Everyone else is still entrapped by their screens, not even aware of my gaze. My pleading eyes have no impact. This is the reality we live in: one in which we constantly attempt to escape reality. No matter where we go, we are always alone. My liberated soul weeps for mankind.
Be close to your parents;
You are their extension
and their portal to another existence.
Allow them to marvel in it.
Your music will honour your soul tonight
And those who have died aimlessly
Victims of a world that values currency
Death can be more appealing than life
For the eternal peace from this reality
May seem a more logical choice
during these hard times.
Hate is the President
Intolerance is the Vice.
Well, I refuse to accept
that no more good remains
On this planet.
It takes but only a moment
With a familiar song in the background
And your imagination running free.
In the end, it matters, indeed.
The sun kissed my skin
Its rays dispersed into my membranes;
And for a moment it shrouded my pain,
Then seeped into the clouds.
The taste of its vitamins
Its kisses failed to eliminate
Those you bestowed upon me.
In a world that has taught me
That success has a currency,
I would like to extract
That it can be measured
By the amount of lives
I have positively impacted.
And as such, I do believe
Happiness is simple to achieve;
I revel in the moonlit sky
And allow imagination’s eye
To transport me
Into the outskirts
Of the universe.
The fresh flavors of your body
Complimentary exceptional techniques.
Your delicately developed cuisine,
Your love handles, naturally perfect:
You are the daily feature.
that four letter
word while your hand
is wrapped around her waist.
Why I still think about your taste
I’ll never understand.
you keep saying I’m yours
but our distance tells me otherwise.
So why do I act surprised
when the excuses arrive again?
I keep trying to shut my door
knowing you’ll sneak back in.
But I’ll wake up with the sunrise
and count the spiders under my bed,
battling contradictions in my head.
You’ll contact me in the afternoon
and pretend you’ll visit very soon,
then you’ll repeat your signature phrase:
“I love you.”
But I know you don’t meant it, as always.