Not against any good philosophy -
But religion is disgusting.

What's it yous worship anyway?
Superstition - nonsense.

Thinly veiled is your philosophy;
Dogma about me, me, me, me!

Proudly wearin' your mark of beasts.

This the symbol, crucifix;
Nailed up "our" "prophet," we did!

This is the ritual, wine & bread it is;
Cannibal feast of "blood & body."

This the symbolism, con𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯;
Reductionism from philosophies stolen.

This the comedy, tragedy;
Bastardizations from destruction & butcheries.

Like orphan children what livin' off charity;
What's me mother's name? Who's my daddy?

Eschewing everything
Cause you refuse to see, nor to hear.

You worship only yourselves;
This that your balderdash?
Nay. You are your own blasphemies!

There's your "divine" "comedy."

Joke's on you lot
For not just havin' "forgot,"
But for stealin'
And sayin' yous didn't.

Crimes enough
To fill sheets yous call scripture.

No such miracles
For those believers.
Those who worship, only worship nothing -
They will be outside of everything,
"Existing" as nothing.

I'm standing at the roof of the school, looking out toward the sky.

All the clouds here are grey, as usual. The same mundane, and dull weather that always appears in this town.

Looking down, at the pavement below, I make my choice. As I jump off the roof, the wind blowing against my body as I fall to the ground.

Only to stop in the air, and float along with the wind, unable to understand what's happening, I float in an awed silence, becoming alike the wind, gentle, and flowing, moving blissfully through the air, only to come to my senses, once I notice that I'm far away from the school now.

I'm hovering over a grassy field, and I slowly start to ease downward to the ground, feeling my socks press against the ground, a cold sensation moving through my feet, and into my legs.

I smile softly, walking through the field, and laughing as I brush my hands against the grass, breaking into a small run, moving in any direction I want, taking in the natural beauty of the field, before I come across a clearing.

Curious, I slowly walk toward the feeling, my mouth agape in excitment for what I'll find. Only to see a long lost friend standing in the center of the clearing.

My eyes tear up, as I walk toward them.

Is this real?

Are they actually here?

Are my eyes deceiving me?

They look back to see me, the familiar smile I've missed, stuck on their face, as I move close to them, tears further escaping me, as they pull me into an embrace.

This field, is an escape.

There's hope to be had, once again.

I come from the dust,
once a part of a star,
A spark in the infinite,
a whisper from afar.

Each little piece,
scattered, set free,
Aiding the birth
of what’s yet to be.

From the fire of the cosmos,
to the earth's gentle fold,
I carry the stories
the universe told.

Now, as I breathe,
as I dream, as I grow,
I weave the great tapestry
in the threads that I sew.

A fragment of stardust,
yet whole in my place,
I am both the fleeting
and eternal embrace.

from ambiguity is insight born.
minds, both clever and not,
all conceive many a thought.

in attempt to interpret,
ideas are set into motion,
building a creative notion.

through presence of equivocation,
wit is given liberty

The air falls silently,
incomplete repetition,
***** office carpet,
flickering ceiling light,
empty, collapsing, cubicles.

The wallpaper fades before your eyes.
People change.
You will die.

It takes emotion to be a true friend,
not presence,
just care,
intention.

Work will eventually mean nothing.

It doesn't matter if you are remembered.

Memories bleed a bed in which to lay.

The ribs break.

Clattering silverware as your parent's worry wins.

Silent dinners seeping dread.

The window panes crack,
dissolving into your mind.

You dream merely what you want to see,
not for others.

Crying heard muffled through the walls.

Futile attempt.

Shaking hands.

Scars, existent as not.

Childhood smile.

Scraped knee.

Painful silence.

It will all be good-
day,
night,
tomorrow,
future,
past,
-bye.

Stay with me one more moment.
One more minute.
One last time.

It will be okay.
Everything will be okay.

Subtlety, envelope me,
To burn with fire the aspen tree.
It feels like night,
Though sky is bright.
I'll define life symmetrically.

The world is done,
To bear a gun,
Accept a life exceptionally.
Tonight will come,
I'll bleed the sun,
And transcend time intentionally.

The only imperfection is the mirror.
The only way the reflection is the same
is if you believe it.

i didn't intend
for it to seem pointed
that time the dog
accidentaly ******
on the
     church
              steps