sometimes u can find solace in the art
but what do u do when the art bores u?
my monthly conversation with the wall
i can only engage when i am surprisedâŠ
this time there is nothing for me.
the conversation with the moon is not much better.
it's hard 2 hear over the clouds
shouting advice in black and white,
one layer glowing in proximity to the moon;
a closer sheet offering only absence of light.
the moon is shortly shunned.
no voice for duty in the murk of October 4, 2014 in Cambridge, Massachusetts, USA.
whispering dark commands:
do not smile at the nice boy.
u need around $37 cash to send an envelope of powdered anthrax to a man who wronged your mother without it being traced,
provided u have a black hoodie,
and that it's still just $30 round trip to new york on the lucky star.
where do i find someone who can sell me weaponry of the biological sort?
maybe just half a gram, it's my first time?
what's the customer favorite?
is death the greatest payment?
something to make him see his own blood.
the moon is obstructed with each reappearance.
it can't complete a full thought.
it's face pulls me into decencyÂ
and the clouds push me back out.
i am too easily influenced by an incoming autumn.
the death of a season amplifies the call of violent goals.
brutal means for a message if the message is brutality.
conversation with the final act is at a stand-still;
i only hear what i can't ignore.
if i had the time to listen to four grown white men find themselves in chaos
i think it would be in the morning,Â
before the daily deluge my brain suffers,
and before my own inner monologue hasÂ
reached a disharmonious climax of its own.Â
the moon is slipping behind buildings
and i am slipping into vagrancy.
the taste remains in my mouth.
theartofmadeline
baratheonpilled
izzy806
titsay
blakekathryn
romaincrisis
annaxmalina
gummygunk
ellievsbear
