I love the decor of white walls with no
bullshit photos covering them
I stare and childishly draw my
Imagination of what this room could be
The perfect set for a sitcom, romantic comedy
The audience laughing continuously as he moves into my apartment
Teasing to
marry me one day
Yet in reality I'm a lost pilot
I crashed my crew and 1,000 others along the way
Lost, hoping we could (on the most dehydrated day), find refugee in the kind of shows that depict
where we ought to be rather than where we are
the ugliness of it all is VERY apparent
Especially when you capture it on 40"
But why do we measure humans by a box so they'll only know to hate what's inside?
like why can't we just enjoy this moment being abandoned
A natural born disaster, yes
But only our spirits calling out in the flesh
Calling out through nature because we don't care or command it anymore
Using it's paper to document and profit from lies that swear we do
Calling out to God
Because we've convinced ourselves
We are him
this is the unmentionable
Well, we should be screaming about it for lives
Like there are feet on the back of our necks
Wounds in our backs and fear gas in our eyes
Yell them that we don't keep writing for current biopics, timelife movies and tips on the latest
We write for the days we don't have to cover white walls with bullshit
Where we ought to be begins..
