Burning in paradise

It’s my last hope. It’s being in the greatest country in the world, and watching it all burn down to the foundation of what America always had the potential to be. As the waves of the internet erode what is left of humanity and winds of politics push the sails of cultural separation. The elements that have been in our cloth since the beginning of this country. Where our ideas are greater than our actions. The lead up is always better than the follow through. We want to believe that we are the best, but what are we the best at? War? Making profits? Creating ghettos? We have a constitution that reads like a poem and feels like a dream that we can’t quite make a reality. That was intended to draw us together for our strength but even the author didn’t believe the opening words he wrote. America has been nothing but years of rebellion. One man trying to hold another man to his standards of him, standards that he doesn’t impose on himself but believes that it must be this way for the “greater good”. It is sad to say that America, though the idea is beautiful,is full of shit. Full of greed that has hollowed out the few values and morals we have because someone always wants to be in charge. And the person that always wants to be in charge, never should be the one to lead. You lead by example, not out of wanting to lead. The same way a writer doesn’t want to write he just does it. These things pour out of people. But this business doesn’t want who’s best for the job, they want who tries the hardest. The one they can control. Burning in paradise is watching all the destruction and demolition of society enjoying the way down. Trying to find beauty in what feels like the last days of society before total anarchy breaks out, (we might already be there) and take a picture of what’s really happening on the surface instead of what’s being portrayed on the television screen. 

In simpler words, burning in paradise is my dirty toilet stall where I can throw up from morning sickness or a night of drinking. Covered in the graffiti with discolored tiles, a single bulb flicking in the center, as shit and piss everywhere but the bowl. On the side of a gas station in the middle of nowhere, between a rock and a hard place. And though the floors are dirty and smell like shit in here, I lie on the floor nauseous, trying to figure it out.