a certain sense of emptiness
sentence structure statements and all you wanted was a glass of clean water
waking up from a dream in which we all play our roles in a 90's teen movie, the coach just wants you to play college ball, but you wanna follow your inner dreams
your base chakra explodes, a certain serpent unwinding energy deep inside
hero or fool, all parts played, the war on expression began long ago
homogenize her a culture of workerbees, and to seek has not been to find of late
stranglehold of our existence, oh won't you leave her be?
sent into a spiral, whirling as five senses can't pick up the pieces quickly enough, we can end all the picturesque charades though, the first iS the last and the last iS the last, all you was looking for was a true friend, there iS no shame in that
now, bikes thrown at cops and we get a notice on our wall that there iS something we can do
but you're not sure that anyone iS ever smashing anything at 6 o'clock in the morning and further fell this certain sense of emptiness, clouding visions of acts to be taken
and then we were against
and then we were for
and then we were against
and you could cure this, but what for?
at times, you wonder whether iyouve invested too much, or if it iS you who view yourself as so different having run into a commonplace amongst not-so-common-folk
there are never any answers and you iS frustrated with the options
we wake, and from there choose the course of our daze through our reality tunnels, share a story with a friend or miss out on an open mic, the sun iS rising, but this does not explain how people, our friends, seem to care less when all we ask iS that they care more, we're smug with little worlds when lives could be saved, our lives could be saved, reclaimed, and maybe 6 months from now someone will catch on if you scream these words loud enough
your computer hates patience and that fucker got the flu anyway, maybe all of this was for naught and the trek will always subdue the end results
but see, you believe in a world where we don't have to lie or worse-still avoid the truth
and pigs don't like it much when we protest their existence
and people don't like it much when we call them on their shit
and quasi-lover, best friend saint loser vagabonds, sometimes, just don't like it much
but there iS a moment when you sleep in your broke-down van in a driveway in the southeast suburbs of portland oregon where you wake to a world of lies and just want an embrace
and there iS a moment where you realize contradictions never to be respected, and in some cases it's over a cup of free corporate coffee, or in a shower at bougie campgrounds, and no(thing) iS owed, and no(thing) iS owned, and no(thing) iS our own
not pages scribbled in an exact match to our handwriting, not under our sign-in names, not as our fingers are the ones plucking the instruments of life
it's always just enough to keep you from crying or vomiting in public, not wanting to alchemize for anyone what may actually come out
so you keep your headphones on, blaring with silence, the jack on the computer iS busted and now the heat just feels good on your ears, and when asked what you're up to, you never have a solid response
you're in love, so you dismantle desire and act (don't pretend) on your love, squash what you think you know and move forward with energies open, understanding that cake walks were never that fun as a child at your sister's middle school fundraiser night
in your search for happiness you play with kids, have a kid, go to the park and shoot hoops, call your brother, dance alone in your living room, read something, write something, ask someone a question and just listen (they will question your motives to the day you both die, so you don't have any), die little deaths with a smile on your face, pick up a hitchhiker, steal from your boss, make love in an awkward place at an awkward time, do what others are not doing (not to be different, but to experience a whole new world)
but do understand, the roots and weeds pulling up the concrete at faster rates than '68 france have never once acted out of ego, competition iS a darwinian capitalist construct and don't take suggestions from someone you know knows no(thing) of what he speaks.
so live life with intent, be autonomous, and think the next time you find yourself building images of a nothing that can't be there.
question: if a writer types a note at the bottom of the page to clarify her words, but in the end chooses to delete it, did it ever exist?