LightThe world it spins to the tune of a ballerina bending the criteria god set for the human body. Continue on a path of vengeance my dancers. Spin as my top, dance as my puppet. You are no more than my puppet. There are strings behind closed doors hiding the mechanic, the mechanisms, as the artisan toils away to make us work like a clock. To move so smoothy along a rigid terrain.More Like This
We are art, the work of tired hands.
The swift movement, countered by a will to be correct, a will to stand in others way, a will to defend your self for what you are. For who you are, when there are billions of others out there. Dancing as shadows in the rain. Perfect droplets are falling on imperfection. Nothing but a reminder we are not alone. A reminder that in perfection they are all different. No one is everyone or everything. No one is standing for everything they want t
ArcadiaI've shredded you,More Like This
Ma petite bits of gold.
My dreams and hopes,
I tore you up,
Crumpled you up
And tossed you up,
Into the air.
You aren't lost in anger,
You aren't a fit of despair.
You are golden bits of confetti,
Falling around me.
A celebration of the future.
You are subjunctive.
One day you will be whole again.
But for now I'll appreciate the dream.
The little golden bits.