yellow brick road

Adams Making Atoms Matter   Bidding wars, biting time  swallowing space shaped like an apple serpent's silver platters; Adams forming matters We forget we were born as products of punishing a great pursuit;  knowledge of the next chapter Out of Icarus-laced lies comes the anticipation  of an embittered taste from the unknown and untaught While Our very creation dependent on digesting what we're diverted from Stacking frequent shrill self-doubts disguised as insanity  a modern Pavlov's bell is sounded to the masses Each round rung forming the ladders we climb to find a false escape in tales told to us featuring freedom in trust falls and courage in leaps of faith Driven in droves, their buses shuttle us into a future  built of what we've forgotten. Eyes shut out from our choices mouths muzzled from making our matter matter as much as any atoms    

About the Author how many pens wrote our world what marks we've all made did we draw the upside down? was it our voice to usher in the cascade? we rub our eyes free of sleep note mirror-neuron yawns reflections of power in small groups of bias while we shoulder the fate of new dawns pressurized diamonds worth more than we're told as the current currency's value unearths and its codes unfold how can we fix what we must've broken  stumbling children in a world we were never taught   pacing proverbial darklands, feeling out senses playing marco polo modern hidden seek what's sought all the while, ones granted early access  tie tight the blindfolds they bought us to make repackaging autonomy as a selfish enemy  keys to our conscious as trophies to take  trading timelines like collector's items our intuition ignored, actions converted to pavlov's new bell what should be alarms, sounded by the drivers afforded means to steer us back to our shells cruel smiles crac

 maze sick  One day I woke up and realized I had lost my mind so I went looking everywhere I walked roads til I collapsed searched tunnels underground classrooms stories tall asked friends and strangers just the same and kept coming back from dead ends,  despite advice otherwise “the map only moves forward” they told me  and then they watched and waited waiting for me to thank them I never noticed what they hid behind their backs inside their smiling jaws the secrets behind their eyes so with gratitude I swallowed every piece these force-fed answers pacified my hunger until one day  I was fFull my stomach sick with what's been poisoned starved for what I came for  they gave me a maze when I asked for myself

 merry they teach us early on  "life is but a dream" promise us a "merry, merry, merry" down this never-ending stream you'll notice absent are the lessons where "merry" isn't what it seems chainlinks and lace indistinguishable;  senses held together by both. what little energy leftover  wasted on a scream that they choke back to add to a collection  in a library we cannot see centered in the great maze of ever-moving our muscles feel less our own after every tired pursuit  met with dead ends and the loudest dead silence  we're left in the static while they change the channels 

Source   tongues tasting truth and ears seeing hidden power seek power  except I am not hidden I light candles  to illuminate any path we may take to find what's sought stay close to the source beware the story but keep the power.  Reject this reality.  You are perfect where you are. Your thoughts and feelings are powerful.  I love you unconditionally. If you're lost- I will find you. I love you unconditionally.   stay close to the source

 Under I want to understand how long has it been have I been under anesthetized but specifics scatter in wide directions; more fabric for them to weave their nets from How long have I written in code how many words have I used to ask for escape where to find it my chest jumps as air thickens their hopeful harness begging me to write in their language  knowing mine will attract me why is my wholeness guarded as it claws its way back we have been found they pace around us uncertain hunters armed with tools from a master designed to embolden the ones so tethered to touch breaking a trance that spouts I'm not good enough encouraging I linger on inaction as my actions are driven by me  my treasure has narrowed they do not know how to not own something I didn't either until they taught me  a lesson I'll gladly return

 Freeze clutching onto a happy-ending- tighter, stupid girl- you're really gonna need it. We both know you're no fighter, stupid girl. Stop stepping into the ring. Tongue-tied defenses fall on deaf ears and “bold” was never meant for you. Backing down is more your style, fairy-tales more your speed. Chokeholding your serenity... “scramble and freeze” may be what you need.

  Pull to Push The ice cream truck's song struggles and leads away the last of us luring with sweet promises of an open window stumbling into a new world bordered by a gate's iron locking refusing entry to all I've known I turn to run to my past  as I sink into this other side my fight quickens the swallow as I slip into the descend the fall leave's me at a forest's doorstep wondering if lost or found careful not to pick sides i'll eventually take those first few steps pulled by power greater to my less blankets of fog tucked in by a chill it slithers down my spine; fresh fear challenging my backbone then the pulling turns to pushing; still more powerful than I i'll step further, unsteadied  no breadcrumbs to trail no backtracks to take the forest only moves forward; at least that's what they tell me

  Hunters I've rented a room littered with books  locked myself in to write myself out. Out among the living and I, the walking dead. stinking of uncertainty; insecurities. going blind to blend in. looking everywhere except right in front of me; the camouflaged hunters rifles steadied at the hint of an unsteadied mind. I sound my alarm and hope and awaken a sleepwalker from dreams where our worlds will meet. Shots fired awaken a jumpy stranger as blood soaked words spill and land on my lips. “What can you tell me about time?” but the answer too late  still hangs in the air. “It isn't here”  the sleepwalker's gone before I return and the hunters take aim as the answer takes me  back to this place where I bleed again and again