some things are just there. don't acknowledge or make eye contact with them.


As I peak through the hole in the wall

I notice things that are otherwise



In France, a June bug dies

and no one perks their ears up to hear it scream


It’s late winter, early 80’s

I let out a breath as you take one in

Another drag, another year wasted


Your tears are saved in a jar


Good until November


I wish you could see me

Happy, Content, At peace

If only I could see it, as well.


The truth seems relative to us

Like some kind of conjecture

We’re all okay

Another way of saying no one is


Our lives are either real or vibrant

No one’s fake

But everyone wants to be

We strive to attain the cookie cutter image of individuality

Yet, in doing so, we lose ourselves

Not knowing that true individuality would leave us cold and alone

Lonely like a priest on a Saturday Night


Looking at this

With eyes crossed from staring at the sun too long

I try to make it go away

The folds of reality wrapped in our relative truth


FOX is our scapegoat

It’s because they’re easy

We blame them to hide our own skeletons

Unhealthy, fragile frames covered with our own rotting 2.0 flesh


It’s all the same


Your neck

Her nails

His cleft chin

All the same


We put ourselves up to be equal

No one’s equal


I scream in pain

As life sticks its pointed finger through the hole I wish I never looked through

and as I nurse my bleeding eye

I figure that it’s better to leave some things as they are


The End

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