43: Dripping

It was only then in orange skiesthat anyone even realized
the scope of days in our snow globe
so isolated and secure.

I like it here
and its clockwork routine is easy
for the patterned days that shake our hands,
assuring us of the order of things. The permanent soul.
Radios never turned off, televisions never really on.

42: Dropper

He's dropping names on my foot
like anvils
and I chuck it at the next limo passerby.
I'm in a purgatory heaven making mountains out of lies...

But look - the stars are a-gleaming
with their Dior fashion earrings
and I'm blinded by the rays of light radiating from fake tans searing.
In the queue to catch a glimpse; flash photos in an accolade,
Strolling around with ghost parades
all screaming and a-wailing.

Just a few seconds for the crowd to die,
then resurrect as they naturally do,
like they're done with this life here and now,
reaching for the unattainable.
So shiny and clean, like the soles of their feet.

41: Label Debut/Dispute

Playing our hearts out, here in front of you.
Be the judge as we plead our case
with our major label debut.

Throw out those memories of failed attempts,
those rooms that never filled.
Those songs that never turned out right
a fanbase slowly built.

Hometown's a worldwide tourist trap
we're the spiders, you're the flies.
you're swimming in my ego pool
with gossip column lies.
We're too good for you, you know,
molded clones are waiting
in my manager's backroom closet.
Gone are the days we've gripped our roots:
we're out for harvest,
rotten fruits.

40: poolside

Wait over here by the poolside
Chlorine blues
Make a bet and make it; twice.
Achieve whatever else is left to steal then take
yourself out, and we'll join too.

We'll die legends, I promise.
Everything's an arm's length away.
(it's easy to leave but it's hard to stay)

Because the hands strike high
to lead your sunshine-state lifestyle
and say goodbye to the neighbourhood,
those streets that carried and nestled you home.
Those gates that softened reality's blow.

39: Dance Up

Atmospheric tango: bring those speakers to the sky.
Grab your microphones that magnify
the soundwaves of your lullaby.
Audience bloodstream circulation,
pumped up souls all ready to go.
Crash the waves to surf them all,
to move in unison or one by one.
Domesticate your inner human,
train our relative theory test.
Question the faith that we've been seeking
and find your answer in a pile of dirt.

Tune in, friends and lovers, to the soundtrack of our lives.
Recorded, produced, and heard without us;
while we live the ins and outs of days
the music plays along in karaoke bliss.

38: Speaker

So as she speaks to the world
on her homemade soapbox -
endearing us all with soulful blues,
her words of wisdom are less than enchanting
when she proclaims them to an empty room.

Did you want an audience?
Favouritism plays in our natural daydream.
Our semesters of luck
and the downfall omnipresent.
the silver lining's been repainted,
renovated to lose all meaning
because tradition is not an easy trend,
its upkeep is atrocious.
Why stay back and watch the rest evolve, like a passenger on the freights?
Observers aren't enemies — we're the burning lights.

37: Z

Returned from sleep
watching the missed events they never captured.
The world tipped sideways
for a minute there
deception strangled our hearts.

Failure policies and talking points
fall from the cloud-bitten sky
like invisible daggers. Harmful but glaring,
fear-instilled. Tired, weary, power.
Hopes dashed, dreams dead
watch hell unfold from the comfort of your home
with muted life and the ethics game - endless.
The contest dwindles, all bets are off.
Stop the gambling, and pocket your guilt.

36: Vines

The changing syndrome: phases, obtuse.

Nothing linear, about this mathematical life
simplified and proven, one trail remains.
No room for turns, let's be mundane.
How far can we go
in this streamline of safety?
Bordeom's our best friend and our favourite enemy.
Drawing the line to a faithful close,
we're closer to nothing, and yet we are everything
that we've never wanted to be.

35: Rest, and a-one, and a-two

The music breaks, finally -
let's hear another tragic story
hear it in the silence, rhythm of Nothing echoes
and echoes
and Echoes

Contagious, infectious,
we cannot bear to be unable to hear
all of the nothing that's been spewed.
I miss that white noise. All the greys.
All those invisible hues. Nothing but notes on a page.

34: Planning

Hands on the emergency exit,
out of chaos,  distress and the sacrilege scent,
The convoy's leaving, so "thanks for nothing".

grab your parachutes with your pale white knuckles,
electricity buzzing from head to toe.
We were told to do this.
Stunt-double nightmare — he didn't show up.
The leader's abysmal call to distress slays all logical reasoning.
Natural wake-up calls, nature rattles,
and it takes a lot of hate
to overthrow their spins and demeaning.
We were told to listen.

33: Trop Tropic

Misty-eyed days
The clouds are covering up
what once was bright and shining us blind.
Shoreline envy and battalion waves mimicking those of
business raves.

But the beaches steer clear — as if a mellow escape
to the blinding buildings encasing the caged.
Away from the lights, cells of financial districts,
Drift off to sea, afloat on your souls.
I eat from the pavement and sing to the skies.

Sink — if you want to, they will let you go.

32: rire

thanks for the laughs and the classic
frame them upon
walls and walls of ambition.
those nostalgic days
and permanent deja vus
are all I can count on, all I can witness.
when the future's just a concept to forget about now,
the past is carried away by the currents.
waste time looking at pictures
long and gone
and hoping what was once the golden age
will return to embellish us all.