They are We

The presence of thrillingness
courses my veins
in lightning dispatches
no losses or gains

only fire.
oh, and breath.
and in the steady breathing,
the blissful blink of death.

So on with wondered waking!
On with tearing eyes!
On with thunder quaking up
Hellos and new goodbyes!

And on with selfish tyranny.
Don't ever think that they need you.
Just fall into your beauty.
Riches are but for the few...

...the proud.
The patriotic and loud.
Huge cars, stocked bars.
Possession obsession.
Abcessing confession
Forgiven.
"The Chosen"
The frozen few.
Who have nothing better to do
Than produce to consume
Poison to bloom
Into all that they know...


They squander existence
chasing dollars down drains
Grasping pixels of infinity
like atoms from grains.
Sucking life's sap
Like a drunkard the tap
Only stopping to count up the gains.

Who do you know?
Who do you owe?
How could anyone ever complain?

when
"they" are you
and I.
Riding our dreams through the sky.

Nothing is really quite something.

Something.
A sweethearted fear.
Exhumed. Confirmed.

I can hold something,
Give it a metaphor.
Something like candlelight.
Something like a soft whispering tone.

Everything.
The giant aggregate of countless Somethings.
Accumulation. Multiplication.

Everything is a toppling conglomerate.
Everything elates us.
Everything consumes us.

Nothing I cannot know.
Nothing's not a proper noun,
Like Something. Like Everything.

Nothing's not like anything at all.
Unlike Something which is like every thing.

I can only seem to say what nothing isn't.

But Nothing can be qualified.
"Nothing is good." - can be said.
But can differ which way it is read.

"Nothing is good." an affirmation.
Or-
"Nothing is good." the ache of dissatisfaction.

Nothing.
The vast release from Everything.
Expunged. Exhaled.