Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Playing With Fire

my mind has been running 
towards similies that mean nothing...
so if i reach for a flower 
let i tell you, it is only our disaster

disaster written upon the face of murder 
will give us hope for a new commander
but if he is to lead us to victory
let i tell you, it is only toward misery

misery that pegs us guilty
for a new ideal to extinguish our frivolity 
but if it will lead us to significance
let i tell you, it will only fuel the resistance

resistance spawned from a dark restlessness
that masturbates vigourously to selflessness
but if our orgasm bursts utopian unity
let i tell you, it is only toward hypocrisy

hypocrisy pumped from the two opposing valves
which sound the beating of our heart
and plugging away the black,
it remits backwards to our sight



newborn heart born so pure
the world can't allow you to stay so sure
so you run and run toward perfection 
in a form of idealistic identification

then smug with a newfound position, 
you ramble off your blackened wisdom
when the nurse calls,
tell her it's a case of dissatisfaction

It's the most honest I've been,
and it's a life I've observed too long...
our minds either play with fire
or they dull and wither

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