Monday

this week we can be different

we can toss and turn and wake up new people

we don't have to drag our tired bodies to work

today our social upbringing is forgotten

today we can finally fucking breathe

burn dollar bills and set the sky on fire

we can perch atop our favorite buildings

the ones we usually stare at from the ground

we can watch the people we used to be

scurrying around from one meeting to the next

it's funny how some of them don't even stop

not even to look up at the clouds

not one single moment is spent living

i wonder if we forced them to see and to feel

that they could become human again

but you and i don't have to worry

anymore

it's monday, it's our weekend

you can be a lush and i can wake up early

to see the sun rise from the shattered earth

freedom is underrated

do you think anyone has noticed?

our cease of existence 

lost amongst a sea of dead souls

wandering from place to place

without destinations

searching so desperately it's pathetic

searching for material things

intangible things

successmoneyfamesexlove

they might find all of these things

but never find themselves

their dying hearts buried beneath layers and layers

of self hatred and monotony

so i think we should leave this place

and not so much as even glance back

frames

i lost track of time

drifting away on thoughts

never acted upon

intensions are excuses

flesh and blood race

as my thoughts disintegrate

i slowly catch fire

it is enough 

to simply be near you

little angel
you thought you could breathe
in this sky full of poison
you thought you could be
in this world against being
like a fly on a wall
you sit, waiting patiently
for things that will never come
and you tried with all your soul
your head heart and bones
until you fell apart
jagged pieces on the ground
scattered so beautifully
as if they were meant
to be stepped on
left behind for the world
to see and interpret
well little poet
you wrote your story
proved your point
but i'm still empty
waiting to hear your voice
dying to read your words
if only it were so easy.

Diary of A Waitress

bankers and lawyers

entrepreneurs and men in finance

all they see is green

green green green

with credit cards

heavier than my breakfast

and weekly bank statements

greater than my yearly wages

all they do is consume

and talk about money 

more money

more more more

i think they live in a different dimension 

in a different world

they see me as as a servant

and not a person 

but that's okay

these men pay my bills

and new york city

has them by the balls

while i am as free as a songbird