She’s had this feeling before. She drop the flowers and fell to her knees in desperation to catch her breath. She could hardly recognize the shock of pain due to the fall. The carpet fibers pushed little indents into the skin on her kneecaps. She looked up one last time, and forgot how to breathe. 

This is our torched estate
We’re your sweet mistake
And all them vulgar kings on their dirty thrones
Who among us will avenge Ms. Nina Simone?
There’s fresh meat in the club tonight

God bless our dead marines

While somewhere distant, peacefully
Our vulgar leaders sleep
Dead kids don’t get photographed
God bless our dead marines

When the world is sick
Can’t no one be well?
But I dreamt we was all beautiful and strong

-A Silver Mt. Zion-

Your hypocrisy sickens me. You will read this, and wonderful if I’m speaking of you. I am. You’ve said sorry so many times I wonder if it even means anything — maybe that’s why no one finds meaning in you. To be cared for requires you to care for others, and that is clearly the irony. 

Zeroed in and zeroed out. 

Things drain out like a bag full of water poked with a needle. At the start things are full, and an hour in and things are dry. Who wants an empty bag when we’re all dehydrated and starving?

Lost a friend to cocaine
Couple friends to smack
Troubled hearts map deserts
And they rarely do come back
Lost a friend to oceans
Lost a friend to hills
Lost a friend to suicide
Lost a friend to pills
Lost a friend to monsters
Lost a friend to shame
Lost a friend to marriage
Lost a friend to blame
Lost a friend to worry
And lost a friend to wealth
Lost a friend to stubborn pride
And then I lost myself

ASMZ

Unrecognized and unplanned I pressed the silicone and rubber against the carpet. The wind was deflected by the glass. I was following and being followed. Gradually, i shifted my hands around the clock of patent leather and turned the knobs to make things louder. I thought to go at 9 O’clock but stayed until 12 O’clock. Disappointed, always disappointed.

My nails are being bitten and my face is being picked. This nest is where I belong and I don’t know if I’ll be able to leave.

Written in secret, and code. 

This is all a situation that I should be fine with.

Is it really okay to be fine?

A person once told me the opposite. 

Streaming, the words came from their mouth as advice. 

Conscious is all I really need. 

He still sits there, old and gray.. weathered and still. 

His eyes lowered and stayed that way for quite sometime. Eventually, the man turned to stone and waited until he was told he was needed. No one ever needed him, and he remained as stone for many decades. He weathered away, edges soft, people brushed by him, but never needed him. Their words were soft and adequate enough to keep him around, but never enough to break the stone that surrounded his emaciated body. The stone figure gently closed its eyes and never awoke from its humble sleep.