this is a public disease
with no ease
sociability
predictability
we all run chasing tails
Mine, yours, ours...
travel out
run around in circles.
there is nothing poetic
about
these words.
There is nothing between
the click, type, enter
new line
new word.
Ladies and Gentlemen,
this is your brain
bashed with a frying pan
On life.
Be more careful
Of those beautiful
Beautiful
(oh so beautiful)
who wear no scars on the outside
here we have fragile minds.
lie awake, question everything
People bleed to make sure they're alive
i wonder if those who don't can tell
I wonder if i can tell.
(Beautiful)
Oh so fucking beautiful.
I am running on the smoke
(theres no need or care in breaking lines now)
of an emotional forest fire
A control fire
Someone set to keep the balance.
Moral is
it's okay when everything dies cause something out there didn't.
Hah.
I'll lay on my floor
No discipline
Spread like fucking jesus
(maybe i can walk on water)
Stay blank
Keep the customary quiet
that silences tradgedies end
(Am i supposed to be satisfied
with just being able to keep from drowning?)
"This is meant to keep the balance Sue, the balance"
(i just overstepped the speaker in a poem to the spoken)
Natural Disasters happen all the time
So that's why it's okay
When babies are left in trashbags
(it wasn't the mother, no)
(Drowned in the rain)
A control thing, you know
Cause the moral is,
Down in power out Suburbia
Flash flickered fashion
lights sirens action-
It didn't happen to me.
I heard
The stories
But no one heard
A whisper.
This is your fucking brain on life
This is changing the channel,
but there's always a moral...
because you can drown out the silence
(but still know there was somewhere, a cry, that nobody can ever hear)
cover it with feigned intention.
Beautiful,
oh so fucking beautiful...
(this is life).

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