Where do we go from here?

You will never find,

      Nirvana,

       With a backpack,

                Full,

        Of ulterior motives.

One must shed,

  All the way down,
       To the your childish
                 goals,

      past all the money,
           And fame,
                 And glory..

 To become
         the curious wonderer,

     Our original self.

Public Lies

I'm gonna say,

         What I want,

   When I want,

        Because I can,

Facts?

    Check if you want,

  But I don't care,

       If you do.

Because there's always,

      Another sucker,

   Who's life is just,

       A little more depressing,

     Then yours,

   And they will consume,

         My unfiltered truth,

    

    Seeking the last bits,

         Of marrow,

             From my last kill.

     

     

The Window Sense

There is a battle,

       Of good vs evil,

Ongoing,

   Throughout our
         subconscious minds.

That can be viewed,

     In our dreams,

Like a window,

     To another sense.

Which pushes
            our dreams,

In or out,

       Of reach.

Who are you?

  Love,

     Is a scattered.

   Silently understood,

        Standing between individuals,

      Whom incorporate,

            A variety,

               If values...

   To make you,

           A better person.

A Pretentious Political Debate

 A group.
     of privileged individuals,
   bicker,

 Stating some facts,

   Pointing,
         at the nearest,
  competitor.

   Passing out blame,
             Against,
        The most polished,
                Candidate,

     In an attempt,
                  to peal off,
     enough votes,
         
     For victory,
             in this feces tossing,
      defecation bowl,

Dating

 There is a hill,
       where unwanted live,

 Just outside of town,
             Past the old abandoned,
       gas station,
                 where the sign,
                       displays,

                    Petrol .99

     Its up a old service road,
                           where grass is,
                slowly returning,
                       the route back to nature,

    Is is here,
        the road ends,
     
                  But climb,

           for on top of a mound,
                     of processed,
                 blackened earth,

          We mine the soil,
                              continuously,
                   in search for,
                         the perfect gem.