They give it a name to tame the brain, to make you lame, to make you the same, and to keep you in their game. Yes it’s true, the meds will tame the beast in you, make you headless, cycle viciously consumed – but wait when they lift the cover from the silver plate in the feast, it will be your face on the platter, next to the cheese.
Dickste.in
Not 30 minutes ago, nor 30 days. Not 2 months before, and not a fuzzy haze. It is every moment stolen to make your own – happiness I knew, will never again be known. One thing I’ll say, I’ll give you this, you are the muse for my emotional distress.
Dickste.in
Some will try to make you buy, sell you tickets to see the light. But the light is free, so don’t buy what you can’t see, and when you’re ready to feel it you would have paid everything for a grain that was never for sale because only a God could have put so much information on such a minuscule speck of matter.
Dickste.in
Flip-flopping fish on the ground, heart stopping, fist-pumping clowns, living out screams without sounds, earthbound – no, gagged with digital satisfaction, homebound and chained to the vibrating ground, like a sluice box sifting for golden-souls but truth be told we are just bought and sold.
Dickste.in
I know one day you will open your eyes. It’s simple. You can not sleep-crawl forever. That’s right, I made a word, sleep-crawling is all the rage – haven’t you heard. Sleep-crawl, sheep-crawl, get off you knees and heed the call.
You can’t sleep-crawl forever, eventually you’ll need to open your eyes, stand up, and aim – otherwise risk peeing on the toilet seat.
Dickste.in
There is no end to resentment because it is a perpetual loop, a trigger of a trigger, a bird that’s flown it’s coop. The air can not be cleared. Resentment is a weaponized aerosol – a mask will not prevent eternal reinfection. Resentment will prevent positive reinvention from productive reflection.
Dickste.in
Difficult yet predictive, a slave to rotisserie insults, my insides roasted, shaking. Reel it in for real, feel it in your bones, rattle rattle, rattle rattle. You never win the battle battle.
Dickste.in
Now we know there’s a heaven. Activate your third eye. Nothing is below us. We all live in the sky.
Imagine all the beings. Compassionate every day. Ah.
Imagine global unity. It isn’t hard to do. Nothing to die or kill for. Only ego and food.
Imagine all the beings. Finding eternal peace. We.
We may seem like we’re dreamers. But we’re not the only ones. We hope some day you’ll join us. And our universe will be as one.
Where are all your possessions. You believed they were you. Scoffing at enlightenment. You refused the truth.
Imagine all the beings. Feeling only love. We.
We may seem like we’re dreamers. But we’re not the only ones. We hope some day you’ll join us. And the universe will be as one.
Dickste.in (with a little help and inspiration from J.W.L.)
A tool they use to dissect your soul, piercing inflection, the bell they toll. Oh those words they cut like a knife, through veins, arteries and my being. Your whiskers are out, waiting to detect every grain of my pain. You let my desperate quips, contrived gasps of air, fade into the macabre – you don’t bother with the easy meat; it is only the excruciating pain your sensors seek. A cobra with a hair-trigger. You can’t erase the marks you scraped, the breaths you take or the time you waste.
Dickste.in
We have been contained, like containers on a ship, stacked within caverns of wood, stone and brick. Sheltered in place, but in place of what, to replace the rut or engage a nut? Don’t assume you know the but, for even a nut knows not what is kept from his clutches, when none are immune, not dukes nor duchess.
Dickste.in
I look at the same buildings. They look the same. At night, flickering by television light, the commonality of humans, stuck in boxes that we placed ourselves into, willingly and we would do it again. We have. Again and again, and again and again, and again, and again. Nothing has changed. We created this time to waste it. We created waste to time our haste. Don’t believe the hype. Nothing, nothing, nothing has changed.
Dickste.in
There are many different types of love. Love hurts, this is true, but it’s only one type of love, and that is not true; love that is.
True love doesn’t hurt, it’s too light to hurt. To get smacked with true love, is not akin to having a piano dropped on your head – it is more like a plastic bag dancing gracefully above traffic on the highway, waiting for its next gentle kiss or possibly to hitch a ride with just the right vehicle-aerodynamics to gently grab on to it. Gently, though gingerly. Gently, though fleeting. Fleeting, though without possession.
True love is without pain, because it is something that you give, not take, and something that can not be taken from you. And alas, if it can not be taken from you, it can not hurt you.
More on love, later.
Dickste.in
If you have been a poet all of your life but nobody knows.
If you have been a lover, your love will grow.
If you have been a sailor, in the seas of insecurity, a victim of anonymity. Tell this world before it is too late, who you are, – change your fate.
Dickste.in
You don’t even know
You couldn’t possibly
I haven’t told you
You think you’re wise
I’ve been there before
Eyes veer from the prize
We took turns being better people
Dickste.in