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Description
The electric rabbit can see me hiding in the bushes,
Behind the cocaine factory,
But he can’t feel my snoring make the ground quake.
While I sleep,
Mother McCrea whispers the contents of her black book in my ear.
“Characters never die,
They are just written out of the story.”

I awoke to the sound of soldiers tears,
Flowing down the crevices in the brick-layered street.
They were holding hands and singing anthems from their homeland;
Out of key.
It was revealed to me in my dreams,
That nothing can be absurd,
Unless you make it that way.

In the park,
The children were cradling their mothers.
Not one complaining towards their responsibilities at such a ripe age.
As they feed themselves to strangers,
So their mothers can eat.

I shaped some makeshift wings,
From the scrap metal I found in the alley.
Too afraid to leap from a roof;
So I stepped off the curb,
And flew to some other form of melancholy.

Description
The electric rabbit can see me hiding in the bushes,
Behind the cocaine factory,
But he can’t feel my snoring make the ground quake.
While I sleep,
Mother McCrea whispers the contents of her black book in my ear.
“Characters never die,
They are just written out of the story.”

I awoke to the sound of soldiers tears,
Flowing down the crevices in the brick-layered street.
They were holding hands and singing anthems from their homeland;
Out of key.
It was revealed to me in my dreams,
That nothing can be absurd,
Unless you make it that way.

In the park,
The children were cradling their mothers.
Not one complaining towards their responsibilities at such a ripe age.
As they feed themselves to strangers,
So their mothers can eat.

I shaped some makeshift wings,
From the scrap metal I found in the alley.
Too afraid to leap from a roof;
So I stepped off the curb,
And flew to some other form of melancholy.