Alive from dead

Watch the birds in the sky

demons fly ing down the roads

we walk

behind us

who's behind us?

And what do we have to look forward to

backwards

death is

backwards

we're born

we died

and we spend our lives

trying to feel alive

from dead. 

Cynic

CYNIC

can't leave the comfort of your bed
you demon you

cynic
wake up.

on thinking and thoughts

"About other" people is my escape.
Their world is so much more interesting
with socks in colour, bones and skin
it's lovely when I hear them sing
those songs in which I'm listening
it's lives I live between the bars.
Of pain, of cups in tea, we're
wringing out the dishes see
past glass that's grey, oh glasses
green it's marked in hearts
we love, we gleam.
What stories told me to get out
which books I read not in my head
where bugs could talk and ghosts could cry
with stories pouring out their eyes-
I learned to think for other's thoughts
and people grew like coloured spots
I am not me not just this soul
these thoughts aren't mine but
Theirs, how drôle est ca.

wrong

There's so much I need to tell the world
but no one ever listens. And now I couldn't say it if I tried
who's fault is this? -not mine. 


How do I put it sweetly? that I'm going well insane...
if I told you what you'd lock me out
so I'll won't say anything.

Who Is It

He whispers, "come on, doll, one more breath." This lonely friend of mine...he isn't real. I'm crying on someone else's floor, with someone else's clothes scattered in the corners. I'm leaning against someone else's wall, and he whispers, "Just stand up and get the hell outta here."
I'm listening to someone else's voice from my mouth when I'm screaming that this isn't working anymore. I'm tangling someone else's fingers between blades, playing with someone else's blood.
This isn't my life on the line.
Quiet, quietly he whispers, "Now walk out of here like the king you are." Only I'm no king, and I give in, because that's who this is and what she does. She tells him, "Fuck off S." and drags her flattened worth along the stairs, down to the very basement of the building. Fading, fading, he whispers, "Don't."

That's where the furnace is. Who's life is on the line again?

Anxiety

You feel like the world is having too many fits
Screaming and throwing things that kill people.
You feel like too many fits will break everything
the power going out
the snow cutting us off
the ice bergs melting.
It's that crushing noise of a frozen tidal wave
moments before it consumes you
and you're thinking maybe you should have recycled that plastic bottle of water you drank this morning.
like it was one small thing you could have done,
maybe you wouldn't be dying now.
Freeze their death frame,
look over to the next screen;
the roofs of houses like floating cereal in your breakfast. those last few survivors, soaking up milk before you eat them too. left for dead, some mornings you toss them in the food garbage;
SOME mornings you don't even care, you leave them.
Look alive, kids.

The time in between the apocalypse is what's waiting from now to then.
You can't help but notice these natural disasters are getting closer and closer together
maybe until it's one after another
maybe until there isn't a pause to collect yourself.
Maybe one day soon everything is going to end, but the ending where nothing gets cleaned up.
We won't be wiped out instantaneously.
But over the next few years
the struggle to survive might not be worth it.

Over the next few months we're going to
over the next few weeks we're about
over the next few days I'm still breathing
switching back and fourth the struggle to breathe is harder.

I think, "It's happening."

right before the wave crushes me.

in kingdom

from being haunted
only my darling knows
who's cheating on ( I'm sorry
's will not cut it( because
we have to run.
My darling does not know knot
who I am chasing after (see
I'm running from this notion
(that just because we're married
does not make me
too much old

my darling he's a 5 year'd boy
and sweety we're just 3.