The Whisper


Explicit translucent, cords strike out of tune.
Ink dries, ashes pour like rain.
Appetite consumes, surrealism, broken heart laughs.
Because it knows there's no reason to cry.
I pass my hand through the rubble.
Blood drips from my fingernails and finger-paints the sun.
This is all I am, a kiss of poison on the cheek.
Sphere made of gold, cross-made of wood.
I've peered into your screen and adjusted the antenna,
And there is only static, snowfalls.
My perception of what you call reality is distorted.
I see the landscape in front of me but it seems skewed.
Undeveloped, no purpose, incapable of joy.
Arrows point us in a direction that leads nowhere.
A diabolical scheme of great magnitude.
Mental slavery is our greatest enemy.
You cannot contain our ability to dream
Or obstruct us from our true empowerment,
Which will resonate and manifest into
all creation, can you feel the whisper?

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