Slapped with nothing but echo chambers

Tied with nothing but the strings of habit

When coexistence is a far away concept

You’re ribboned with the mundane,

And embellished with stagnation.

What’s the point if we don’t recognize

That the breath we breathe is shared by others

And the ingredients of their existence get swept

Across our face.

We are made whole by the countless pieces of our environment

And disintegrate in unwavering ignorance.

What counts is our patience for rainbow rings around solid prisms

And acceptance of blindness causing harm.

So wallow in self indulgence

Matched with palms down and an inch between each finger.