Lost somewhere
The path of roses and pixies
Drawing
Tugging the reigns on fictional
Life
Masquerade of beauty
False footsteps of time
Thudding loudly.
Forced to run into the forest
Of lies. Of deception.
Dawn a shroud
Of protection. Protocol
Of fear.
Monsters.
Demons.
Lacerations of dawn
Severed soul of the missing
Mind
Trampled down
Into the leaf laden
Floor.
Heavy hands
Forced. Wicked.
rip the dream
From mind
Settle in
To the turmoil. Reality. The moon.
Seared away by nightmares.
Of death.
The Myth of Her
There was Angel blood and fire dust in the wisps of heaven, blown by the currents of passionate havoc. The molecules escaped history and slipped into the slit kept secret by the future, now red with remorse at the loss of clock-tick virginity. Somehow the folding of hope and loss gave life to a seedling, with roots of immortality and stems of divinity. She rose from fertility with soft eyes and strong bones held tight beneath pale skin. Every time my heart beats, she blinks and I feel the breeze.
Because laughter inevitably ends.
Because death is more natural than life.
Because mankind is nary a blip in the universe.
Because I stopped smoking.
Because not all tears are evil.
Because the deeper the grief, the closer is god.
Because god is a concept.
Entropy.
Seasonal affective disorder.
Why laughter?
Because awkward silences facilitate it.
Because audiences congratulate it.
Because anxiety perpetuates it.
Because clowns thrive on it.
Because faces wrinkle to accommodate it.
Because laugh tracks enforce it.
Because it's true.
Why not?
