this is the land of the free who chose slavery. an ever expanding suburbia built with strategically placed tombstones. your coffin is just part of the scenery. never mind the green in our eyes or the ink on our skin, we built this three car garage with integrity and the sweat on our brows. elastic lips. we’re impaled on our white picket fences. once friends, now business associates. just another conquest. steel and plastic name tags twist and form into the shape of a heart. socially accepted contortionist. every smile rhymes and every kiss hints at silver screen innocence. like riding a merry-go-round on the highway.
#read-b4-burning
Mind Nomad Writing 
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