The New Americana

{"We don’t run away, we cannot run away from our demons; the very ones that plague us with our history, reminisce on our backstories and they, Judge. Judge, adjudicate us by it, Convict us of a felony for whom which we have been associated with; or accused of. It is indefinitely outlandish to dispose of it into the city's luminous garbage and be unburdened from its grappling hooks. The realm we altered into was the realm for whom we reached our demise. They engraved themselves into their past and let it linger as the drenching alcohol burned their already tarnished throats from the Screams, Screams, Screams They once produced, and reached to the bottomless pit of their souls. We articulate vague despondencies of our pasts that would suffice at this period of the year; the new year. We wake up every day with whitened follicles and dwelling relics that makeshift us into our affairs; that shall stay consigned to the grave; seven feet under. The conflagration that ignited on that particular night shall not emit into flames once more; the volcanic eruption would carry us to our extinction; our connotations, the zeal attributions. We detested what we saw of ourselves, whom we saw when we ricocheted back at our gullible, immature treads, our reflections were what we were; who we were virtually. We merely cannot come to admit it, frivolous beings were what we were. Too much passion, too much love. We buried that ignorant, compassionate, chastity lurking through exhaustive eyes as we bedazzled ourselves from the realities of this corrupted planet; this corrupted country. The pristine Americana, in which we listen to. Every corner on the street we turn to, we witness the weed fill our nostrils, the premeditated devastation that led people to their damnation usher into our already kept-ajar wounds. We take a turn and depart from that flank of the world towards the other; we operate through the meadows and unintentionally, we forget what real air, ambiance, essence scent, and taste. The integrity in it; we lost ourselves due to the virtue. They plagued us believing we were, with wide eyes filled with equilibrium. They antagonized us, poisoned, intoxicated, internally. They seeped in their venom and took a step back as we, withdrew, we dozed as sleeping beauty; our sighs linger in the air, our screams confiscated from the real world. We let it transpire, Withdraw. We let them slay us, we allowed for the poison to surpass our hearts, and form into pigmentations of tattoos that disembark stains even if deducted. Withdrawal. The new Americana, bash their heads against a wall in regret and scream for the consent they were never provided with. Withdrawal, the new world. For every good thing has come to an end. Eternally tarnished, Without the Devine consent, of the youth."}