Finger fall off, wagging empty

The chorus
screams for blood
every single day
emptying out their hollow vessels
in shallow tears
shallow emotions

Genuine hardship
genuine regret
purchased for someone else
prostituting themselves
out for causes that disappear in just a few days

Like a child crying
the chorus knows there is a problem
even if they can't articulate it
so they scream
and turn red
and try desperately to be heard

Finger wagging
falling off
empty anger
this is the legacy of the chorus

Who enjoys tragedy
because it feels so good to be right

There is blood on all of our hands
but the fingers still point
while plasma beads and flows to the tip
of our finger nails

We just buried a body
time to bury another one

Don't think about it
don't ever think about it
lest you be buried too

Don't think anymore
it isn't worth it

Used to be one of the rotten ones

Thinking back to cold nights
learning how to smoke a cigarette
crushing so hard
confusing cool friends
for potential saviors

It's hard to regret even a second of it though
freezing air seeping in my jeans
and nervously adjusting and readjusting
to hide the whole time

Everything from then smelled like ash
But it was sweeter to me
when I was young

Reading magazines furiously
forming in my mind
the things I wanted to be
And mostly missing the mark

But I wasn't sitting on my hands
at home

Remember blogs?
When somebody cool told you about one
and they seemed so amazing
to a suburban boy

And now they're all gone
or something might call itself one
but for anyone who remembers that short time
it just isn't the same

I remember driving when I shouldn't have
where I shouldn't have
sleeping on couches
and having the privilege of seeing the peak of a
time and place
and person

Those girls
those cool girls
They were my teachers

I remember them now
differently than I did then

Just the same way that smoke is more annoying
and headache inducing these days
It has to end

I only hope to make something as bright and good as that again

Navel gazers

At once all the wars seemed to blend
together screaming
out at each other like a bloody antelope
coming to grips
with the lion's jaws around its neck.

The world was falling apart
in a constant stream of terrible tragedy
and bad becoming good
and good becoming bad
With the weak an downtrodden
now crushing a new minority
and somehow not remembering what it was
like to be crushed.

Yet still with all this noise
flooding my ears
I can't help but wonder if it has always been this way.

Is there a tipping point of no return
or a circular, repeating saw
with each sharpened tooth eventually making a cut
while on the opposite end
another blade wonders if it will ever have its turn.

Is it like watching a sunset and saying to ourselves
that it was the greatest sunset of all time
because of how we felt
in that moment
from that perch
ignoring the fact that
even on a cloudy, rainy day
that same sun still displays its splendor
out of our unfortunately limited view.

Does an ant know what is happening on the other side of a grassy field
or have concept of creatures under
the water in a pond?

Does it matter?

Is our attempt to connect all corners of the globe
and right all wrongs
and feel all pain
from the west to the east
and north to south
not just in vain
but vanity itself?

An animal might gather food for a
cold season
because it is necessary
and even in our own complex world
we must ask ourselves
what is really necessary?

The ugly haze

The morality of the crowd
is a yellow smog
that creeps under doors
and around fences
into our souls

It is strengthened by hate
by ambiguity
made powerful by it's numbers

There was a man who blew smoke
in a woman's face as he walked by her
on the lake bridge
and he didn't care
because the haze is uncaring
inhuman
but a product of human nature

The frenzy of self righteousness
is inhaled
like a noxious drug
it feels like the high ground
but it obscures itself
in itself
and deceives those who believe in it

The morality of the crowd is like religion
with no rules
a god
whose only rule is to stay out of the way

preaching happiness
we find that
nobody is happy anymore
because nobody cares anymore

Just like that man on the bridge

Burning the trail

Smoke between your ears
you judge
and protect yourself from judgement
but like an approaching fire
the heat will eventually
inevitably march on

Burning your skin
singing your brow
until the little beads of sweat
start to boil
and bubble
cooking your skin
red faced

You hide from reality
too easily
you hide behind made up words
and supposedly deep philosophical
garble
that come out of your mouth as awkwardly as
gravel

The worst part
is anyone who really loves you
can see how far the fire has come
charring your heart
of its former green
life

You lose yourself daily and hate
hate hate hate
hate
everyone who doesn't love

and in that hate
you find shelter

Like a crustacean taking a warm bath
in a boiling pot