Outside the box
We mock the killingbird.

Surreality TV,
Bingeing dirty laundry —
What have we become.

Redemption denied —
You're either wrong or…
Whatever.

Innocence doesn't sell —
Assumed guilty
Until proven guilty,
Or until the public's interest
Fades.

I'll see your scowl,
And raise you a smirk.

Most cannot see
The factory
Until they reach
The end of the production line.

Bent under the weight of wealth —
Not the coin. The shit we buy.
Happiness a zero sum, materialized.

Choose what to bury
And what to relive —
Filter your memories,
Elevate the positive.

Magnify the trivial
And scrutinize.

Of joy,
Of pleasure,
Of pain,
Of frustration —
Is there anything
More versatile
Than a scream?

Flickers of attention
Illuminate the absence
Holding patiently
For the moment to end,
To be there for us
When we will inevitably
Wait again.

Unreadable expressions,
Intricate emotions,
Hidden depths beyond the spine —
Yet, most books are still judged
But their cover.

Shadow puppets fade to black,
Abandoned by the gipsy sun,
Watching hands that shaped their world
Pray restless for another dawn —
For one more chance to please
Their audience of one.

False projections, true desire,
Fantasies to mute the pain.
Dead-end hopes, too distant dreams,
Acted out to turn them real —
Unaware that
No one but you
Cares.

Paper puppets
Wasting days —
Negative life
Between light and the wall.

Stunned by how she
Made me feel,
All words but one
Disappeared —
Blimey.

Above the chaos,
The violence and hatred,
The petty games
And worthless causes,
Watching the selfish, egocentric masses,
A lone bird gazes down,
And weeps.

They bow deeper
At the platforms
Near the ceiling.

Such sweet sorrow.
Part of you
Will always stay with me —
Mostly
The dagger in my back.

Words bled silent,
Pain in transit —
You were never here.