How easy it could be to be like you.
Unassuming.
Ask this: a pleasure?
And answer: what measure?
unknowing, in innocene, as you always are.
How easy it could be to be a youth.
Or a savior.
A solve, a solution
something other than the
sensless sack of s***
that sits sullenly upon his
throne of sodom.
but if easy called, why not easy done?

How easy it could be to see like you.
Unintended.
Ask what: my direction?
And retort: disaffection.
Or it should be, to keep you harmed and harmless.
How easy it could be to be candid.
or just simple.
breathe in, breathe out,
not choke on the irony
lodged in the fire-breathing pit
that words spill out of
violently.
But if easy riled, why not easy stopped?

And oh,
how easy and lovely and pleadingly
grasping
is the idea of being happy.
F*** questions
and answers.
Fun beckons
with laughter.
But how?
how easy can easy be said
when a lie burns as deeply
as the passion
pitted deeply beneath this suppresing
and suffocating prison of bones.
how easy it could be to be like you!
Alas I'm still disallowed.
and alas I still feel alone.