i was going to sleep but i found words i’ve never written

words don’t exist

on lies we subsist

 

forgot my phone

i’m so alone

there’s no one here to text

 

people walk by

they’re all a lie

cause people don’t exist

 

the chemical brothers

have no other

dream within their head

 

i dream their dream

but still it seems

i can’t be an unsaid

 

and so i read the poetry

drawn without a sky

no wind is real

and still i feel

the dust blown in my eye

 

i walk by apple-pie windowsills

and every empty bowl i fill

with earthly emptiness

 

nothing is real

but can you till

a soil in the windowsill

that bowers

in effort to bring a little pleasure

amid the imperfect

 

we perceive imperfection

but darkness is simply

an absence of the molecules

that make up photons

because we have turned our back on the sun

 

but there is no speed at which you could run

to always keep the sun at your back

just the facts ma’am, just the facts

in other words nothing can be spoken

 

perception is broken

but it’s all we got

 

and instead of realizing

its fullest potential

you require everything

to have a credential

 

so exposure to the acceptable

can be ascertained

 

circling the drain

fills with disdain

those who can’t draw a circle

 

there’s a reason artist won’t wear purple

until they are old

while i unfold

a piece of paper from 1982

 

(i am standing in the rain

crying out in vain

for it to please stop

and if it will not

i will probably blame god

for this run of bad luck

instead of walking indoors

removing my wet clothes

but dare i be so bold

for i do not as yet know

that i will have approval

for coming in out of the cold

though it is what i want to do

can i, to myself, be true?

without receiving your blessings

through and through

and when will i, having eyes,

finally see

that i am free

to take the moment into my own hands

and alter it according to my own plans

till all i can see is me

apart from your manifest destiny)

***