Tiptoeing through the trees
Woodland creatures greeting us
Descending further from structure
The quiet overtaking the fuss
We try to be grander than precedent
Yet habit takes a familiar role
Leaving a void in our morale
Purge with fresh air upon the soul
Stone cold stereotypes
We’re lost in the void
Sudden depression creeps
On edge; constantly annoyed
Deep breaths to calm
We’re all out of control
Transparent in our pain
A generation of lost souls
I’m seeking a truth within these fragmented words
My thoughts won’t cooperate with how my fingers move
Typing on this old handmedown machine to transform
My mundane existence into a magical, deliberate groove
I am not afraid to expose the flesh of a wilted soul
There are no heroes in these parts, just broken misanthropes
Internalizing the segmented society & all the villains
Returning to coffee so black the void regains precious hope
Captain Q 