Month: August 2016

I would rather be happy…

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Conscience, burned away, refused to speak its own defense
but in riddles circular
till listener and ally alike found nothing but heads in their own asses
While distant laughter the only telltale sign of fled felons
engorged on the entrails of the faceless
The erased
As tears melt down cheeks like acid
faces burned by betrayal
children’s cries sink slowly into earth, heard
only by the ones as powerless as they
The only ones who would save them

We hear of our own demise too late,
for who could see it coming?
When sorcerers’ spells and riddles
lofty words that are nothing but bullshit
evade our understanding, time and again
until destruction is upon us
And who ever heeds the prophet’s words
and dark forebodings?
They seem amiss
in our bliss of ignorance
in the sunshine, smooth sailing
in the hours before the tempest
And like the storm,
our tormentors pass on to new conquests
and ensuing sunlight only serves to show that
we again bear the brunt of malice
For its capacious distension is a safety, of the worst sort
and the consequences are but scratches upon the veneer
of those too big to hurt, too large to conquer

We want to trust
but perpetually place confidence in deceit
For to be told what to believe
what to value
seems safe, for a time
for that quiet time before the storm
As if absolved from all guilt
all responsibility for faulty choice
but on our heads the anvil falls
Not only for our own
But for every sin.
We are the shaky foundation
unable to bear the ponderance of evil
The giants’ fall is softened by the snapping of our necks
the skulls of children cracked on city pavement.
Blame is the burden of the innocent, once more
for they have no voice to raise, beneath the crushing
suffocation of the respectable scoundrel
The gaslight
is the beacon of this corrupt crusade

And then we realize
that all we worked for was a lie
that the promised pinnacle of happiness was a monster
That we become the monster.
Consuming ourselves from the insides
selling our souls
buying them for profit
watching their value rise and fall,
Detached
In this chase, we truly only ever fled
Running for dear death from ourselves
from love
from everything that ever fucking mattered
Till some empty shell,
bleeding dust and dollars
crumbled away at the end of the road,
shattered into pieces in the dirt
While far out of time or shadowed memory
a soul weeps
left behind in ashes

Because this is the world with no happy endings.
All we can hope is to realize that before our hearts
become too incinerated to feel
All we can do is grow up too soon, forget the
dreams that once swelled and sung within a young heart
Forget
the sun’s kiss, the tickling of verdant grasses
the whisper of wind in the leaves, the songs of winged symphonies
the stars celestial dance, the watercolor sunrise

Or we can get the fuck out.

Forsake the furnace in which we are fuel
the streets that are paved with our own souls, trampled
the numbers seared on flesh,
commodities to be bought and sold
Sold a story of our own freedom
(if freedom is to choose which way to die)
We are the cogs in their machine of war
but we could breathe free air, rather than
the fumes of our own demise

You say we are naive, but I would rather be
than deceived, reduced
to glassy eyes and ashy face
guarding a cynic’s scarred mind
Limited to forging my own shackles, ever lengthening my chains
until they eclipse my shrunken soul
and I cannot release them, for fear of seeing the corpse I have become
I would rather have peace than success
passion for life than for climbing a ladder to nowhere
anonymity than acclaim
I would rather be happy

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