Deaf, dumb and blind

I am that, you are that, it is,

being here and now,

always, an infinite evolution
to come back home where the heart is,
the open source, awareness,
I am that I am.
Inspiration has something to do with breathing,
the factory is strangling the Goddess
to a certain death,
Little boys and girls are dreaming
in a plastic king-sized bed,
the frequency is screaming like heaven and hell,
pointing fingers to keep the contradiction
for the invisible towers and the broken bell.
Short-term investments are going up and down
in the greedy hands of burned out players,
the sword underneath their manufactured
garments of electromagnetic light.
Circles of pain counting the stains of blood money
while penetrating a stoned virgin high
in a bed of roses late at night.
The saviours eating some manipulated bad fruits
and injected the illusion of anxiety
with a cocktail of bliss
their words still too strange to be understood
in the year of the defragmentated fish.
(struggling with a moonbeam
 and a movement of splinters)