Hologram

It would be better if we were all just holograms, no feelings in our gut or dying from our cells. This doesn’t make me crazier than I am, We’ve got parents and their children dying in this hell. Can’t you make me out of sand? Smooth my edges and fill me till I’m whole. I’d be so much better than I am. And I have stories that have yet to be told. With the skin and bones that make us real, comes pain waking us for the moon. Inside and out we always feel, Down your companzine and they tell you “soon.” Make me out of wood and sculpt my shape with clay. I was a real boy once but not anymore. Please give me life just by taking it away. Cause living it’s become my chore. If not that give me grenade hands of smoke. Blasting off at the shells of empty rooms, or the gas of tears to make them choke. I’ll be me again real soon. With the skin and bones that make us real, comes pain waking us for the moon. Inside and out we always feel, Down your companzine and they tell you “soon.” Give me what I need to go on, give me what I need to not to go wrong. Nothing less nothing more. Nothing less nothing more.