From the Graveyard

Untitled (poem-like non-poem)
I'm sitting in a graveyard of my very own. A graveyard of faces, no...not true faces, but masks. Each with it's own perfectly painted smile. Each slowly losing color, slowly sagging into the earth, slowly losing their realistic sheen. I'm surround by my own face, mass produced to fool the masses, who produce massively to avoid looking too closely at anything.

The title? It's absolutely correct. It's not a poem and I don't expect you to think it is. I was writing and this sort of slipped out. Stream of consciousness is always interesting. I think certain people bring out a certain type of anger/angst in me...also interesting. Luckily, I get to channel this negativity and get rid of it constructively, oh how I thank thee Lord for the gift of art. Now, back to drinking heavily in the middle of the night, with only a cigarette and my thoughts.

-The boy who laughs