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Description
My Daily Hypocrisy

I see dusty boots and a tortuous trail,
I watch the little girl lift a pink thermos to her lips and absentmindedly drop her lunch pail.
I see a myriad yellow and black signs the meaning of which I find difficult to decipher,
To the dragonfly carcass and detached translucent wings on the sidewalk: "everyone has to
pay The Piper."
To you: "I see your blue blood, the same blue blood that runs through me,
That liquid star dust; the petrol of humanity."
The little girl picks up her lunch pail and squints at me--either she didn't understand or, like me, she doesn't want to see the web the world is weaving,
Peripheral: The wind catches the dragonfly that is now tumbling aimlessly; and by the time I look away, she's already leaving.
I don't like me; I hate these dusty boots and where they're going,
Stupid girl left her thermos; so shiny that in the sunlight it appeared to be glowing.
I pick up the thermos, sip its remnants and try to shake this bout of existentialism loose,
Staring into the endless trail I also wonder why this tastes like vodka and orange juice...

Sushanna

Description
My Daily Hypocrisy

I see dusty boots and a tortuous trail,
I watch the little girl lift a pink thermos to her lips and absentmindedly drop her lunch pail.
I see a myriad yellow and black signs the meaning of which I find difficult to decipher,
To the dragonfly carcass and detached translucent wings on the sidewalk: "everyone has to
pay The Piper."
To you: "I see your blue blood, the same blue blood that runs through me,
That liquid star dust; the petrol of humanity."
The little girl picks up her lunch pail and squints at me--either she didn't understand or, like me, she doesn't want to see the web the world is weaving,
Peripheral: The wind catches the dragonfly that is now tumbling aimlessly; and by the time I look away, she's already leaving.
I don't like me; I hate these dusty boots and where they're going,
Stupid girl left her thermos; so shiny that in the sunlight it appeared to be glowing.
I pick up the thermos, sip its remnants and try to shake this bout of existentialism loose,
Staring into the endless trail I also wonder why this tastes like vodka and orange juice...

Sushanna