Wave
I feel my mind clearing clutters.
A slight trepidation occupies my mind.
A steady note rings on the organ.
The bruise has become chronic atlast.
I'm a day too late.
Everything happened at once.
I might vomit.
It's 10 am, in my mind anyway.
Ignorance is a loop.
Is art liberation or the story of liberation?
Who's in charge?
Is there a way out of the conundrum of diseases?
Who's in charge?
In a crowd of a-hundred eyes left behind,
and a hundred living that slight you
and a hundred that open-up and invite;
They're all speak lies.
Who's in charge?
Make up a truth make another, to fall back to.
Even if it shall not fall in line.
Channel the power into a ground
Even if it gives a strange seed never to be studied or found.
Who's in charge?