Bøker av Alyssa Eve

Kid, people are breaking their backs for those dollar bills you're breathing up your nose. Awake, unaware, I stare out the glassy window screen. Where have you been? (Where have you bean?) He quips. His shoes, unclean, boots to bear the brunt of a days hard work. So I stare him up and down like a jerk. What are you doing at my door? I find my insecurity lying on the floor. Befuddled- begging to ask about your falling mask of sobriety. Why do I? Oh, why do I support your special type of negligence? It's been six months since we last spoke... The ode to muddy boots- Hey man, here's a buck if you're down on your luck. I'm curious, does he think I don't know? I can't see? A dusty nose- rail thin- skin and bones. Boy, when's the last time you had a decent meal? I pull you in- for a second let's get real. Have you seen yourself lately? Tell me, what's the deal? Seems to always be- some girl broke your heart. He takes a bite of broccoli and begins to sing his sad love song once again. Empty plate filled again, starving for a future he will never see without the ability to keep his nose clean.

Standing on the streets of my mind, desperate for some change. What can you spare for me? Can you spare me, stranger?Spare me from cynicism, the broken shoulder of philosophy. There's an element to suffering, one I'm quite familiar with, for without pain, there is no power.I am a beggar in my mind; where passion is currency, where consideration is a drug to crave, where desperation settles deep within my spirit. Desperate for an eye's attention, here comes dopamine's phony affection.Deflated egos everywhere are familiar with the feeling of ups & downs, and sideways looks.A beggar knows misfortune and her dreary streets to sleep. Home is a dream for discarded sentiments, a treasure, a concern to keep.

Everyone has demons,but how much do we take off our red maskshowing how they get the most of us?The mask may be imaginary,but it's a growing problemsitting in the pews at the church of"Can you help me please?"Yet most don't even know,or can't even admit it's needed.It's sad how we're so quick to criticizebut can't admit our own imperfectionsor even begin to decipher our daily demonsbecause we're so busy masquerading around in red.While we're ignoring our harsh realities, dancingour way through life, woundedon the inside and deteriorating underneath-what I fear most about this, happensto be how many of us live, unawarewe're wearing a mask.