Aftermath at the Farmers Market

Sifting and weaving my way through
Husbands and wives,
Babies and mothers,
And off the clock whores
Dressed to impress out in the daylight
Of this organic cesspool.

I try to feel normal,
Keeping my shell intact and
My mask from bleeding off.
Skimming and hustling within
My mind.

In a world of desperate normalcy,
My insides are screaming.
What is “normal” anyways?
A politicians word living a lie,
Strangled by his own noose,
While talking shit towards a blinded,
Slow suicide.
Where the weight of a feather
Can feel like the world teeter – tottering
On its pattened leather.

Blurring the lines between heaven and hell.
In the end, as I begin falling deeper
Into the darkended depths
I break a smile.


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