To the simple times.
Running without running shoes.
Teaching robotics without classrooms.
What fell from lips.
Upon it’s crash.
There is no glue left.
Bad metaphysics teachers are great parents.
The real world, only what the eye can possess.
The obeisance, like caution tape.
Looking, surrounding what was easy and unbroken.
Beaten into politician happiness.
Music is made as soundtrack for what can't speak.
Horse blinders let the young ride free.
Working for the sick day.
How many times will the throat open with nothing to say.
Friends are floaties in uncharted waters.
Expressing what how they cannot function.
It makes robots real.
A brotherl of the unexpressed.
Posideon is welcome to our living room.
The fireplace is for comfort.
There is no fire, no warmth.
Girls bite their lips, anxiety laced intercourse spills onto animal fur.
Boys act cool, the scent of suave irreverence floats demonically.
Bird watching, with lecture’s of freeedom.
They fly perfectly though our ambition stains.
Wanting not wanting.
Freedom is ambivalent to the tongue.
Tasting chocolate chip freedom.
A dead child buried in self love, gleams slightly.
The city, finally unmasked of superhero egoism.
Iron necks on first dates and elevators.
Walking on set.
With all of us, praying, knowing we are the star.
Everyone-else must abide, must fit into my round peg.
Darkness pervades because I know the devil is elsewhere.