poetry?

you are poison.

the rotting flesh of

spoiled fruit

hoarded under the belief

that you could

stockpile security

by investing in the farce

that you convinced yourself

was your duty.

blind from the shining bright heat of your fantasies

that you are the most intelligent

that you are the most handsome

that you are beyond reproach

from all who remind you of your weakness.

including us.

i eat the weight of intention

and sit my way out of momentum.

fooled by the pace of life

and the technologies

I pray to.

So enamored by the rythm

of the world I create

in my head;

my body is no longer pertinent.

Yet pains are born in parts

I never thought of,

before when energy was alive

and lived in my veins.

lost the gift of feeling

the minutes and seconds

between intention and

the possibility.

as if dreams are a commodity

that is too expensive to consider

when it is so expensive just scraping by.

the cost of assumptions

heavier than rain storms

upon the naked.

Defenses raised without

understanding who or what

we fight for.

anger because of anger;

and love becomes trivia -

a set of ideas,

an argument,

instead of the truth.