My demon half.

Yo, I got a demon half who agrees
with everything the president’s saying.
Fuck the weak, we got an image to
maintain, you know what I’m saying?
But then I remember why I feel so bad
for so long & it’s all coming to a head.
Life ain’t about the chosen few if
you ain’t one of them.
You’re exceptional, we’re exceptional but
the foundation’s crumbling
like the ice, like them trees, like them
slaves that we keep denying.
Yeh, accumulation creates the wealth but
nature demands even distribution, too.
Just shows it ain’t about the money,
it’s the power of who gets to stay on top
and do the fucking.
I’m sick of the “necessary” evils that are
organically made by a corrupted society.
Hold a loved one in your mind before you act,
no, not yourself, for Christ’s sake!
Can’t take the criticism? Then stop
calling this a democracy.
If this is the best we can do
then what is there to save?

What of death?

My left lung feels like there’s lead in it. My head is not clear, my effort at paying attention comes and goes. No, I don’t have that one, but some other one. Is this what fading feels like?

I lay on the bed, looking through the window. The world is the same, starkingly beautiful. Yeh, I know that’s not a word. I don’t care. I’m tired of googling things. I’m tired.

Oh, yeh, I look through the window, into the sky, into the white patch that’s covered by 5% of my eyes, the mind makes up the rest. I notice the light’s fading in and out, in and out. I get curious, so maybe this is what dying feels like?

When the lung is not working properly, nothing much goes. I wonder if the lack of oxygen coursing through the body will make people stupider. But no, people are plenty stupid already. Case in point.

Is it my fault? What’s happening now? Did I wish for it? Is it a wakeup call? A cleansing? Nature’s thriving again. The seeds must be sowed, for the future. Why should I care?

I’m not afraid of death. I often say it would solve all my problems. That doesn’t stop me from romanticizing it though. Isn’t that what we do? Chocolate, sex, glitters, death.

I’m afraid of living with no purpose. And since I’m still breathing, with one lung, or 1 1/2, the work is not done.

All is well. Whatever that means.

They.

“They” is not for me,
it’s for them
who only sees a woman
to be impregnated
or just a man
to be domesticated.
“She” & “He” work perfectly
though only momentarily,
then the spirit rises & wanes,
you may know me differently.
But don’t be confused,
it’s me as a whole.
You may be surprised
pleasantly or otherwise.
Which is the big deal
now you need to know,
not everyone’s binary
that fit into your ideals.
“They” is for you.

Unsteady.

I’m unsteady.
After autumn comes spring.
I’m unsteady.
Mocked for being a graceless wretch.
I’m unsteady.
Not your friendly, agreeable type.
I might bump into you
without an apology
cause I really don’t notice it.

I’m unsteady.
Resigning to fate.
I’m tumbling.
You laugh at me.
I play footloose with gravity.
My hands quick & the branch’s sturdy.
Unconsciously I save myself.
You’re amazed at my agility.
I think it’s a pity
I’m not head over heel.

I’m unsteady.
No script, all actors.
Too cool to be real.
Just a healthy dose of no fucks given.
I may hail you as a villain,
so we are even, so we can be
unsteady, interestingly,
defiantly, definably.
To pave the ground
for those to walk on
who can be unsteady.

Us.

It’s OK baby
I like the way you are.
You don’t have to do anything
have a rest in my arms.

The world can be a cold place,
more the treasure, our little spark.
It may not last forever but
just a moment is quite long enough.

It’s alright love
you don’t have to say it.
I’m not here for your confession
nor am I your judge.

Life can be a gamble
& nobody knows the rules.
This view may not be perfect
but come on man, it is all for us.

Tears of diamonds.

Another toll, another tag,
another punch card, another check.
Do you cry tears of diamonds
when your heroes die?

Another tweet, another line,
another cross, another like.
Do you cry tears of diamonds
when the news are bad?

Tie it together, out of mind.
Turn on the TV, everyone’s wise.
Do you cry tears of diamonds
when laughter needs a marching band?

Do you still cry at all,
still dare to feel?
When diamonds become symbols
of a purity we no longer know?

At least we’ve got something.
Who’s counting the carats?
Do you cry tear of diamonds
when everything’s bought and sold?