Cycles

Silence of me

 Lampshades and shadows fill my rushed vision

Organs play in the background ominous darkness in motion

Eyes melt into my face right before the incision

Staring into deviations notion

 

The record is over and the stylus is being scratched

I feel the bass and the treble in every bone

Everything I do I feel like they are trying to match

All I ever wanted was a cardboard box to call home

 

Death and cyclical hatred ensues

I turn my tv off and read the Romanian dictionary

Flashes of propaganda using the abused

I close my book.

I try “living at the movies” instead a true visionary

I still can’t forget the bombs

Kids huddled under their moms

And the worst part is I see the same image in two different worlds

An ironic commonality

Words and Words

Lack of light

Blinded first sight

Blinded by there mentality