Blue Around The Neck

Death and love and death and love and love and death is all there is holding flesh to bone - bone to breath - to blood.

Words splash out crash out of this inked pen.

Descriptions of ideas, perceptions.

Only known to my insides, known by no others exactly as me or I, them.

Still, communication flows, one to the other, believing that we are understood.

Misunderstood most of the time, time tells.

What was grasped or passed over?

Time tells.

Pressed into, pushed through.

Perseverance.

The constant heart beating repeating always repeating.

Until it does not.

Stoped.

Gone?

Empty?

Why always the black and white of thinking?

The have, the have nots.

What of the middle?

The middle dilutes the senses.

Kills the imagination.

The middle like bland watered down coffee, the caffeine washed away.

Filtered out the buzz.

The kick.

Kicking and screaming.

Fighting.

People fight, constantly battling not in a war but with the impulse to rise.

To climb, to achieve so-called successes.

Become Blue in the caller.

Succumbed to mindless dull labor.

For what, a few dollars to spend on consuming to keep the machine fueled.

To be held down.

Pressed, depressed by invisible hands around the throats of millions.

The 1%.

So small.

Free.

The rest paid slaves.

Working to fill our bellies, roof our heads, fill pockets but not our own, in pursuit of objects, which are supposed to make our lives better, more complete, happy whole.

Working always working 12-14 hour days, two jobs and more a day.

To simply survive, to feed the machine, to employ the wealthy with all their riches - earned off the backs of cheap labor.

Paid slaves. No rest

The option to bow out, not permitted on these premises.

We must all earn our keep.

Keep on keeping on.

Immobilized by survival, left empty after labor.

The body so depleted of energy can’t even fight or care to question.

Just    get    by,    live    then    die. 

Try to love in-between.