Teaspoons don't exist

There are no angels,
There are no people who can tell you how to feel.
For all thoughts are human,
Filtered through a conscious mind
Where only feelings burst through
From the subconscious.

But people try and try to help each other;
Swimming into the wind.
Is the joy hidden in there?
It smells ripe, but there’s
A rope in the valley that
Drags the sky into the craters below.

They covered the spaceship in fur
To make it look more real.
But leopards need oxygen
And don’t pretend to be what they’re not.

In hot granules of searing truth
We gulp our medicine,
But the dosage isn’t stated,
And teaspoons don’t exist.

With the numbing realisation
Of the impotence of speech,
Comes a vacant peace;
A net of balanced equations.

Whereas before, when the sun
Broke a hope-token through our sky,
We sat indoors with our own light,
Creaming at our reflection and wasting our seed.