Compass

Counterfeit love,
The most stagnant of economies,
Counterfeit love,
Brand names on prepackaged lullabies that help us not cry in our sleep,
Counterfeit love,
An invisible hand directing invisible currency,
Counterfeit love,
Cheap placebos fall like rain on a wound that is the earth’s surface below,
Counterfeit love,
Just a coat to keep you warm; not frankincense or myrrh,
Counterfeit love,
A figure 8 that forgets its path; plunges into ongoing traffic,
Counterfeit love,
Anything to avoid the drastic.

But you…..

You are the sky open so wide,
We can glide through and step in,
Play God and scroll through creations like fragile papyrus,
Until we arrive at the most pure and primitive state we can be,
Where the idea of counterfeiting hasn’t even been lost,
To that knowledgeable tree,
It’s in your bed,
Wrapped inside of you like an endless knotted lace and an endless web,
Staring into the eyes of these pitiful machines,
As the build crops of other machines they call offspring,
And that tree of knowledge knows nothing at all,
At the idea of an actually idea it stalls,
It’s camouflaged as purity and feeling,
But it’s prepackaged and mass produced,
A market in a noose….

But I’m not sure what purity is,
I feel it in the crevices of your lips,
It speaks to me like nothing has ever spoken to me….
I was once told….
Man is always searching,
And man never really finds,
Because man doesn’t have a map,
He just melts into his surroundings,
Blends in with the winds of time….

But I’ve found my compass,
Latitude and longitude, and a plea,
You are what they search for,
You are what I’ve been waiting……

For..
What did I do to deserve you?
What did I do to deserve you?

Why am I not like the rest….

Just a scab on the earth’s endless eye,
That sees everything but leaves clarity behind,
Until it only sees in static and black and white,
So our fates naturally blend in together,
They form an assembly line,
And everyone is just dancing to the same song and the same beat,
From the sludge of the bars,
To the production of the factories,
They come home and think what does it mean,
Black and white,
Black and white.

Why have you given me color?

What have I done to deserve you?

Why am I not looking for…

Just settling for counterfeit,
Love in a cloud of dust and wind,
Love trapped in a box so it thinks the sky is actually what is taping it in,
Love that knows absolutely nothing of pixelation,
Love that reinforces your status and class,
Love that only knows of a past,
Love that covers your path in shards of glass,

Why am I running free?
What did I do to deserve you?
There’s nothing I could have done.

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