Crash

Antagonizing, pushing, faking it with a mask. Anything for it to work is your new way of life,

the wheel is turning but the brakes are burned out. It'll crash at the end of it's run and leave no sound, 

no ghost, no lively imprint. 

Just a few dead scattered bits lining the dismal concrete. We say we won't sell our bodies but then we go forth to sell our souls. One idea after the next shoots from your long dried out lips until you're faking it.
Choking on the sugar coated words as you spit them out. You're really just stalling for one moment more, one moment more. 

Until the moment you crash, just like the deceased wheel. Your crashing and the brakes are burned out so you find your self without an escape. 

You collide.

No scream, no sound, no shout.

Flower

It may sway in the breeze
free to do whatever it may please,
overcome by sunshine rays and flooding rains.
Silly little flower with a dumb lazy smile.
Grazing all day in a dry grass meadow.
No sign of life, enough to suffice,
but only a small weak flower.