Haunting me
as easy as saying
we're all free.
well if we are-
why are we so obsessed
with our own demise?
that we're surrounded by
lies, and spies?

dancing in my dreams
like a puppet on strings.
This is not real.
Here, I can't feel.
Talking to me
Like your best friend,
your forgettable friend.
your Other friend.

calling me that
as easy as saying
"You can do anything"
as long as you have the right
paperwork,
money-works.

what sort of world
has freedom
without the dollar?

what sort of love
has answers,
without the pain?



no idea what inspired that ramble.