Stories float from the basement,
Kids gathered the round table,
Cutting off pizza slices, and cracking cokes.
Hours on end, never bored, never end.
From the caveman walls, to these high school halls.
From the spray paint of hieroglyphics to the electronic hum.
Stories float from the internet,
Bored teenagers and men in their mothers basements.
Float through the satellites, from states to countries.
Words float filling the awkward loneliness in the air.
Awkward loneliness alone in this existence.
On cinema screens, Hollywood writes our waking dreams.
Pages tattooed with ink, spelling out our fantasies.
If those big time directors, heard the words we breath.
Of the kids at the round table,
Of the click click link of cell phones,
If only they observed our stories we're shooting out like stars.
Another constellation, Another mars.
They know there are no snowflakes,
We're all just shooting shit,
Getting through this lifespan.
YOU ARE READING
Symptoms
PoetryPoetry. Love. Happiness. Sadness. Depression. Guilt. Regret. Struggle and Confliction. We may all be breathing, we may all have our hearts beating. But these are our vital signs. These are symptoms that prove we're alive.
