In celebration of silence.
A perspired treasures worked for by others.
I'm ungrateful in ways.
I'm more interested in the weather.
I'm thinking of a place that doesn't exist.
A crop formation in my head planted by the dead missing their lonely children for watching me purposefully overdosing class-C narcotics.
I don't deserve it.
I carelessly pant on the oxygen they cherish just the way our breath seeks life.
They watch me fucking and forgetting.
Speeding by the exits, I saw beauty in not ever looking back.
Wasted choices scream their voices.
I'm alive and among the dead gathered around in my head expecting me to open my arms to a deity among my astral plane.
They follow me in my trails waiting for me to find a meaning I've yearned for.
They know what I know, that the place I'm looking for, the open fields, the warm sensation, the real.
We're all on the wrong side of the wall.
I wish you could hug your children and complete your wives while I watch alone, as everything.
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