Anarchist A_

Credit Cards, Snow, Whiskey

Dirty Dollars, Ink, Candle Wax

Green Sacra Resin, Holy Water, Old Confession Room, Priest’s Clothes, Plastic Bag

Today I remembered hypocrisy.

They sell us love, faith, forgiveness, blessings, distraction, dreams. They sell anything if we are ready to buy It up.  

If it is hard to tell who ‘’they’’ are, it could be because of us… All we ever wanted was everything.  

White-collared promises that children follow, a better tomorrow. Only if you work for it for every tomorrow.

And me, waiting in the cold, snow on my face, rye in my pocket, hoping for answers for a different age.

Society remains dying. And we have killed it. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers?