Rough Flowers

Walking on water,
Singing in signs,
I'm leaving you whether,
You like it or find,
It hard to believe,
I don't want to conceive.

This time it's serious,
This time it's gone to dogs,
It blooms like Caribbean suns in the dark,
Waking to the sounds of bombs,
Living in a plastic concscious.

For why I crave for resistance,
I don't know,
Like a road in decisions,
Like the road I am leaving.

To be craving, for virtual loops,
Of fun.

Woah, why do you feel so contemplative,
It's such a disregard to our catechist mentality,
Or rough flowers growing in deserts, winter, blights of volcanoes,
And we'll stand and you know why.