Live a Healthy Life in a Cloud of Smoke.

If this is who we are

And who we’ve come to be

Then how come it’s not raining

And the water hasn’t rinsed us clean?

If there’s a smoldering in the stars

And gluttony lives within the greed

Then how come we’re often penniless

And only move our tongues when we’ve agreed?

If there is comfort in the chaos

But a sense of stillness in security

Then how come all of the movement

Makes me want to grit my teeth?

If there are methods to the madness

And silent strength in subtly

Then how come all of the apparent subjugators

Always seem to come out with the lead?

If there are painful feelings for a reason

Ya know, to motivate necessary change

Then how come they feel like death and dying

When they creep into my range?

If there are skeptics for a reason

Just to question, puzzle and pry

Then how come the cynicism within me

Makes me want to haunt, dwindle and die?

I see believers in your book report

But where’s the setting, plot and theme?

You can’t just write to write

And think to think

But leave the devilish details all up to me

If there is love after the bereavement

And a sense of peace once the miasma has cleared

Then I’ll just sit right here in my deafening fear

Yeah, I’ll just count the stones until the calamity disappears

No I won’t hold my gasp until your face appears

Because we both know the rules to which we won’t adhere

There’s a voiceless calling in this fucked up year

And we will fill our lungs with an airy souvenir

The one we gave as a gift when we were once sincere

But the devious nature of my laugh is now evocatively here

And the murder of my moral fiber is deliberately near

I meant it when I told you to “free your thoughts my dear.”

The clock ticks

But I don’t

What used to draw me toward this life

Is now an anecdote

Yeah my veins are dry

But my clothes are soaked

Cause he was hung so high

With the tightest rope

And I drive the smoothest ride

On the most treacherous road

And live the healthiest life

In a cloud of smoke

Cause when ceilings are high

And depth perception is low

I’ll run to the uppermost peak

And never glance below

A black tar in my home

Needles and plastic bags for show

I was never privy to the downers

But I’ve found quietude

In the most bustled drone

Don’t even think to speak

Or even say hello

I can’t read your eyes

Cause mine are decrepit and broke

No I’m not the girl that you used to know

But I’ve never seen me like you see me

That’s always been the toughest blow.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.