Reality folds
like cold magic
origami of sorts
we play games with people like they are sports
our retorts
litter more than plastic
we get sick
sicker than we are laid in our casket
What happened to the child
in our hearts
We are nothing more than happy shoppers with shopping carts
This reality is an exchange of ideas of money of time
but we can’t see beyond the lines
that take control
take our minds our bodies our souls
we tell our selves they are words
but we aren’t even as free as the birds
which fly free in the sky
we are the prophecies
with our opportunities
we our the sickness we accumulate
we are the best and the worst
the sanguine curses
Hell which lives with hope
but hope is a bird that lives in a cage
singing in its hopeful rage…