Untitled # 4 Poem by Andrew Tiangco

This is the end my dear, is this the end?
Pollens drifting in the wind
Nowhere else to go, away from it all
Seize the sun, swim in the moonlight
Rustling of the leaves and no man comes
Leave everything behind
Woodmatch houses in rows
Calm like lake of your childhood rugs
Cowboys and your mother's drugs
Cold turkey on a Wednesday neon bright afternoon
Typing away like a madman as you don't have anyone
All are phonies, all are fake
Wrap up your arms and persuade the flower to bloom
Satellites hovering above your thoughts
Bleak, woe, and the gentleness of your parole
Bricks and bricks of your glassless soul
When will the system lie down in its grave?