I find myself oddly inspired:
Bodies plastered wall to wall with a backdrop of COOL
Hot breath fleeing from mouth to ear and back to mouth again
Afraid to INHALE and let the words consume your soul...
Instead they fall flatly on the floor.. and then we wonder why the ground is so sticky.. (?)
And the comics line the walls screaming truthful obscenities few can hear bc all we can hear is our own white STATIC.
So consumed by our own heartbeats we're growing inside out- waiting- demanding affirmation for our blood and bones as if we could take the credit for the ingenuity of GOD.
The mind is gasping for fresh air and though we don't do drugs they seem to do us and with each
shallow
breath
minds are decaying..
Because we're attracted to white and shiny, glowing- IMPRESSED.
Can we find the beauty in the dirt?
In the bowls, upon splintered backs?
I'm afraid that we're lost only it's worse because we know the PATH.
We're selling ourselves to the trick that will pay the highest price- in popularity, that is.
Soon we can scarcely make out the noses and the freckles that have held us in their hands..only the obscene.
