Same day, every day; watch the children argue what to play till their hair turns grey while they

wait for that big payday;

History in the making, fading in the wake of good intentions again, like prolonged foreplay ending in unsatisfactory premature ejaculation;

Copulation, the obligation to make more of the same days, every day.

Borderline cabaret.

Watch the flowers grow. Inhale and savor the Gaean

Setup for decay, invigorating in feigned or self-preservation

Swayed ignorance; ostriching choices made, aching deliverance from disarray, as if it isn't the same day, every day.

Watch the self-proclaimed renegade, join the masquerade in a post-modern morality play.

Full circle, made.

Momma, it's a shame, but you gotta fight every victory claimed all over again.

Watch the minds being shaped by a dying generation that wasn't up-to-date in their prime state.

Devolution. Degeneration. An attack on self-determination in plain simple dehumanization, transgenerational, the joining this self-righteous parade of lives lived in disdain of liberation;

Afraid to see one's own name on the signs that are waving, hushing the voice that would say there are more than a million names that have the exact same connotation.

The odds aren't favorable when it's the same day, every day.

The light of sun has been wavering, and its bitter dusk once more proclaims we should cover up and hide our bodies;

Our scars,

And our stories;

Our face, and the history we once planned on making, building on progression; guessing

The clock won't be resetting while we docilely sleep, regenerating;

Forgetting the cut underneath the band aid;

Forgetting the ghost of 'fuck all'-past and the way it weaponized slivers covertly chipped from the future while we were sleeping.

-via Tumblr