my horizon is painted
i shall not want it
i sit beneath its false
images and lies and it
does not notice me
i am sad
the pool of water
paints scenes of beauty
that compliments tttthe
helping to send out
the feeling that all is
a bastardized town crier
heart black and gritty like
the cockroach shit in
my all american floor cracks
i kn
w better
l look out there
i feel the
need to tell that all
is not well
so whats the good news?
they ask me
There is no fucking good news.
comes my reply
the horizon spits a
flower at me trying to
highlight the illusion
and the cat quietly bathes
himself uncaring for the
babble about him