THE OPEN MIC CYPHER

[dead man]

honestly


all i wanted was a lifetime. a chance to survive,
restore sun-smitten glares within an amulet's shine
when the rains came, whitewashed our planet's natural grime
leaving chrome-silver candles in mechanical shrines
they said: apocalypse. i said: only a matter of time,
i prepared. they shopped organically & mastered their high
sipped glasses of wine, majored in music or fashion design
but we all felt the same shadows in that blackening sky.
romantic, savage, divine. i saw my daughter decease,
drowned. she washed ashore. her corpse the mark of a beast
soundscapes. hollow, scratchy screams as people divide
worker ants to sandhill colonies like bees to a hive
Queens thrive while we're relieved, simply to be so alive
in a place where statistics digitize obedient crimes.
my friends died, due to cover-ups and media lies
they never managed to calculate any piece of the pi
but i lived.
there was no Arc. no Noah. no intermission,
no Savior. only cans of soup and lonely decisions,
only steel walls beneath a tunneled hole in the kitchen
a goal, a mission, anger. and the ghosts of tradition,
to guide me on this journey. under rubble or stone,
towards utopia, where corruption grows, the government mold
where they understand, it's balance. its hustle & flow
salvation - a seed planted in a puddle to grow.
they fled Underbelly fast. for us there's nothing below
but a bunker in the battlefield. no summer or snow
from now on it's dark and metal and calming repose
waiting to break like shooting stars in the mold. i watch it alone.