They want to make us the same. Cookies walking in a cookie cutter society. Labels greeting numbered personalities. We forget we are more than just the next. Forcing dreaming to be done at night only, in the dark towards electric candles. Away from the breath of reality that stinks of society’s foulness and talking leashes. From the choke of obligation as it jumbles past a crooked tongue. A crooked smile to match the crooked crown above. I could wish upon a star only to realize it was a satellite and an old one at that. A relic hidden in a young man’s body, still a timeless necessity. Youthful eyes replaced with a cynical nature and a need to prove that cynicism exists. Watching icecubes die in seas of scotch. I pray to the wind, whatever wind happens to grace the pillow of my thought. And in times of blissful silence I finally find a reason to keep living. The sound of the crunch from my eaten cookie as I break society’s mold.
Jason C. Cushman