Wednesday, 2 December 2015

Young Sinners Abusing Youth






































"Garçon à la pipe” (Boy with a Pipe) by Pablo Picasso (1905)


An empty mailbox is perhaps one of the most disappointing occurrences
Does it ever occur to the postman that we would rather not have his junk mail
Without us having to explicitly say so
Son, they love you, says the too embarrassed     
They’re well aware of your old habit
For stealing their cigarettes behind their backs
We all need to learn to love our lungs more and stop being the shameful hypocrites
When we’re sentenced with diagnosis
Save the tears for later
It’s more shameful to act surprised
You are the toxic influence that feeds those toxins their role
In the destruction of our temples 
A breadth of smoke is unpleasant for so many non-smokers
Only the selfish ones will let their children breathe the foreshadowing of a premature funeral

The illusion of rising from the ground has always been a temptation to be resisted
Not so successfully
We will try again tomorrow and the day after yesterday 
We creep into territory out of bounds during bad moods
The boss on the red chair
Scares even the wiser ones
It is a form of addiction 
To pleasure oneself in dictatorship
Never mind the reputation of being barbaric
We've said before that blood is power 
Fill in lungs with substitute teachers to calm the nerves of those systems
Surrounding the tortured soul
They plant bunches of flowers on the crowns of our heads
To undermine the misery of fearing death  

Who can blame the child who looks at mirages they shouldn’t
It’s our fault for leaving them
For free, we envy them 
The pipe is an accessory to torture our victims who fall on demand
Flip their innocence onto their backbones
And reach for the reference of the direction to banish the offenders
Of youth
That never comes again
Oxygen is the luxury to be abused by all class
So stop trying so hard to be friends with people too awkward and shallow
In their thoughts we are prisoners already