HO BA Haroo
The time keeper is in the shoe
It lives scattered on the crunchy asphalt
Surrounded by tar pebbles
Hello to the picture books
The crisp mangoes
HO HO
South of the border organics
My word
The mouth sounds are bloated
Meaningless
Inside the house of grandmother
Leather couches and horses,
Dark, shiny hardwood floors
There are no shoes in here,
No labels
No scattered bills or trash bags
Or worthless knick knacks
This is a museum
I'll steal the pictures
There are no lines here,
These pages are empty
No structure
Can't you see?
YOU
YOU PEOPLE
There is no meaning anymore
No purpose
Don't you see?
This is a dehydrated world
No amount of bleach, detergents, or disinfectants
Can clean up this mess
Or wash away the misery
This world is a museum
Do not treat this world like a museum
This world is our grandparents house
This world is an empty shoe box
And we're walking all over it with the shoes we tore from it,
We're devouring this place
Eating deeper and deeper into its soul
Listen
We've caramel coated this apple
But it's rotting away from the inside out
Just like the shoes we wear
Take off your shoes
And stick your face in them
And smell the sickness
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