some pray looking down, some do it looking up. some do not pray at all.

I found a letter adressed to Santa circa mora than 20 years ago

it asked questions to which my reaction blunted the reflection

on the mirror, on the puddle by the curb on which I forged strength to raise and carry on

got once we crawled so we may raise and erect walk in control of our very step

I firmly believe we recreate memories to better suit our needs in our sleep

renegates to the truth, we combat emotional damage with fairytales and happy endings

grey matter highs dissipate words that generate conflict in the sounds of resistance

to extend my hand towards a child and get them on the path,

that's not a lot to ask for Santa for, right?

looking feral and wild young one as the winter bites back

my mood worsens in rooten fashion, I do growl to the darkest dark

dig, scratch and act cold towards the good vibes tempo

be like a fool and lose all control but keep it a secret?

will it happen again? are we ear marked to become token entertainment?

the water chugged by cynical egocentric megalomaniacs and somehow stability

battles boredom as it pushes IQ upwards, morality to the sidewalk and few notice

if I could not change the world or know everything worth knowing

I sure would hope to had a crack and half a swing at doing this thing some call living and growing

up.

doctor what can you prescript, sad songs lately just do not quite hurt the same as if I was no longer welcomed nor invited to the ball and now I feel unsure I can love myself

crawling up my forearm

dragging along the guilt, bitter and daunting

at sight, venomous I am assured by insecurity

confused by the realization I cannot trust to identify what is real

distracted it was so fucking hard by the reflection of what composes the surroundings

lately my phone ringtone is my worse enemy and it did little

paralyzing my actions, controlling my reactions

pursuing to wash away the conflicts flying at a million miles that winter frostbite sensation of expectation meet disgrace

self-control is no longer enough and words might not suffice within the ears a buzz

to placate nor stem the overflow so loud that may follow

father you carved a map towards dignity without warning

that it stood so near and clear in an open rainy day across the dwarf gold

a leap away it sometimes blinds me from what I sought to strive, in full display should humanity triumphy upon thy enemy

a token anyway, do fade away dreamer of a dream as I choke tears

this scars and night terrors crash like wild waves at my core, my centre

chasing happiness like addictions chase highs, we never stood a chance

because we are not equal and that road is a hill on a steep incline friend

we are doomed to fail and I assure you should we suceed we would surely capsize

towards the other way and snowball towards our doom as surely as this tough love education

sows resentment and trapped screaming, there is however still skin to scratch

and doubt to nag at, have at, tryst at

I need not a doctor for my ailments  for

for you must understand it is self-inflicted  for

for my downfall can be prevented with due entrapment  for

bind my hands with handcuffs and leave me prisioner  for my sin is existing

as I struggle to my feet and jump off the ledge towards that rainbow

falling I do not forget is the easy way out, gravity is an ally you see?

I am stroke with curiosity to follow that same rain

downpour, down under

you ever felt the urge to run? well I just have to

I just cannot defy the urgency of today

when it surges and embraces so loud and clear

this is the way it has to be? that shit means nothing to me

you listen here, you do not own me and might as well disappear

blep blop off I go on a hop,

I am much better without and that I can be better still while waiting for a red moon to wish upon.

what remains, it follows.

dear diary, you can use me

draw blood upon the soaked page

let only the iron reside and linger

in the words that ramble and move

like static they dress down the perfect timing

holding my head in case it decides to roll under

the table once again in a feat of mischief

the supply of breadcrumbs is getting shorten

by greedy fucks with eyes on the hanging fruit

youth and boomers idolizing vampires wishing it could be them

not studying upclose the source material unfiltered

shapeless dreams gliding between certainty, diffusing nationalities

in principle we are all connected, a matter of conjecture hold in profund suspense

attaining the possible by peeling the wickness from within

a parting gift, felling the duality of hypocricy with a crunch

developing a better coping mechanism that supports repouse without due sacrifice

we shan't be content with anything short or less than uncomplicated

that would be bizarre. 

perhaps the wheel has turned.

can you trust what occupies the imagination?

bewildering and thumping nations redefined

a running gag of sorts, a mercy for a low blow

bruises that heal deeper than we intent to show

the new heights, walls we have yet to climb

foretold the dates disclosing the tribute

the ritual, routine and clockwork it demanded

we are afraid of war so we draw dilapidations of hope

greater objects overturned by machine manmade

men earned this desolation ringing at the heartstrings.

beginning to recuperate my breath pace

alongated nails whose metrics tempt me

as I grind imperfect teeth rolling on the tongue

kept shut, not much has changed since otherwise

in need for sun rays

what could not stop me left me for dead

December has rapidly become the most hated month

of this advancing calendar we have been forced upon

the aftermath of chance adds to the effect of fractured brokens

wounded prides, afflicted egos and children sat listening out for static