No one sees inside the dynamic escapade

the resides behind my eye’s

inside intolerable pain

swirling with disappointment

in a flood of waves

rolling over

diminishing hope

sadness seeps into the silt

and its built to spill

happiness is an illusion

bought from black market chemists

the best of us

turn out to be the worst

and what was once white

turns black

as hearts

and art suffers

as the economy grows

and souls become shallow

we are what we consume

and we have shoveled shit

for so long

and all the

questionable revolutionaries

sing the same song

where is truth

and reason

when does passion

stop seeming like treason

I want to believe again

in anything pure

but in this life

the absurd

seems to be the only one

not disturbed

into hiding behind

a smock

or glasses

expensive cloths

or oak desks

inside fancy offices

in prime real estate buildings

in the perfect part of the city

and they travel home

inside there cars

that define them

till they are possessions

and possessed

and i might as well be deceased

because ears are to deaf to hear me

so I will take my sad sub-soprano tone

and talk to the wild

or just live in print

for eye’s

and whats behind them

and if its a sin

to be unknown

i would rather remain

anonymous