Artwork by Lauren Robin

Our time’s running out.
my fingertips are shaking on top of the trigger. the first breathe, the lungs;
oxygen and carbon dioxide, inhale—exhale.
molecules celebration, arranged by plants, our loyal traders. humanitarianism transform into A4 printing papers;
rainforests have no trees left to cry.
contributions towards society’s ease of comfort—to the future; new generation, recycled excuses. A lament of bereavement, mother nature’s grieving.
standing in the havoc of “her home”—
And what for? Industrial communications.
Rubbermaid gloves, plastic love, privileges of existence, living without being alive.

•In case of a fire\fictional viruses\severe loneliness; please be sure to use a mask to cover your heart•

waning crescent moon, I am a lone wolf, wearing sheepskins; maestro of a choir. Performing in my empty auditorium.
Sonata written by no name.
Vibrations, an echo of life.
poundings, on the walls of my aching heart.
chorused, I can hear synchronization—
some sort of ticking, copycat the beating of my heart; filled with DMT
leaking; leaving you, my love.
a mask can’t protect your heart from a wrecking Ball, you can’t move forward, if you’re unwilling to release the past.
eventually, You’re not gonna be able to ignore the awakening;
As you’ll stop snoozing your alarm.

—

Poem by Lauren Robin

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Painting by Catrin Walz Stein

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