I wear my soul on my sleeve.
What is the use in hiding it, like a recluse,
when so many might seek and find refuge
from their refuse.
Dissatisfaction takes aim at our very essence.
We, those with harrowed hearts and
swallowed souls are emboldened to explore
essential new directions.
Life is a fucking strange labyrinthine mystery.
Endless logical fallacies surrounding the naive, the lost.
Honesty, you are so adept at hiding in plain sight,
offering subtle excuses.
We are living in a world of traumatized social creatures,
speaking in shattered scintillas of slaughtered slang.
Fragmented voices, interrupted by devices,
created by our very own kind.
day by day,
moment by moment.
Meme by meme,
tiny illustrated symbols misrepresenting and
attempting to replace true emotional expression.
These Cyclopean eyes,
neglected, bloodshot, in desperate need of cleansing,
made dull by illuminated screens, as opposed to
beaming bright by the metaphorical hands of
illuminated vessels of creative confessions.
These addled eyes,
blinded by the nuisance of popular culture and
the fear of missing out on something that is
most certainly worth missing out on.
The young and the reckless, the breathless.
Youth is not wasted on the young;
The young are simply