Inspiration is dead,
swallowed whole by reality.

Do you ever wonder where wonder has gone?
Who stole our imagination?
And when was value was stripped from virtue?

Tears have flooded the river of empathy
and drowned the innocent boys,
their lanky arms and legs
swept under by the current,
their ruddy cheeks turned blue
from bruises and coldness.
A smile escapes,
awkwardly personal,
all knowing,
ever fading.

I've tried so many times,
to copy and paste my thoughts
onto this stark whiteness.
To bring them to the light of
truth.
To expose my weakness.
Inspiration is lost...

"The first time I saw you
you were chasing down a cyclone
all alone in the field...
I never thought you'd wind up chasing me."

Atomship: Time For People

I found no people for killing time
so I found time for killing people
I found no rhythm I would rhyme
so I'm the rhythm for the people

And if you wait on me
I'll be free one day

Contemplating genocide
upstairs waving, scared of people
Afraid that feeling hasn't died
it gets lonely for my people

And if you wait on me
I'll be free one day

People always drifting out of pain.
They cannot hold onto nothingness
Fingers bleed on the concrete walls
leaving only one nail for someone to see
Only one nail screaming to me
so many fingers pointing at me

I found no people for killing time
so I found time for killing people

Pour a song into my open wounds.
The wounds that do not remember your smile,
the way you laugh,
the exact color of you eyes.

And now I realize that there is no resemblance.

There are no similarities between you
and the face of Jesus.

In this game,
where we agreed to take no prisoners,
I realize that you have captured all my pawns.

The morning is the worst part;
when your absence reminds me
that this is all I ever wanted.
This independence.
This space.

And still you are gone.