untitled

if you lie in a poem, it's propaganda.

So you better be so honest, so sure

so critical, so humble, that nothing ever gets done.

where am i

I am on an empty floor
I am in a wooden city
I am in a dead zone
If I fall asleep here I will not wake up in real life
If I dream here
Without the proper fear of injury or death,
I will become my own story.

Its 11am and it's sunny and I am indoors and I put up the hood of my hoodie.
Listen. It's a luxury, to protect yourself when you feel vulnerable,
Instead of having the fingers of some monster pry you open
Until the world can count  your vertibre and call you spineless.
Whatever it means to be right and wrong to a child who doesn't sleep
Is reflected in the eyes of the people I have loved
and hated the most.
This is a hostage situation and we are in hell and I am full of love in the only place in the world where that is more pitiful than beautiful.

I am desperate to speak with you

 I am not the first person to get older while the world is dying.
We do it everyday together and somehow get nothing from it.
You- reader you're my teammate now. I've recruited you
to feel this with me
Helpless in parallel
Hopeful in perpendicular
Of those eight letters, which ones are meaningful to you.
Quickly.
This is a test for both of us.

On the back cover of the akoshic record
You will find the name
Of the publishing company.
I tried to make that a haiku, but if I have to cut out one more syllabyl
My teeth will fall out like a dream.