I wonder what is the purpose when the same results always resurface.
I am still here, under all of this refurbish.
Who am I really kidding?
A question I ask myself as I sit through this friendly sunday service.
I will not make a pledge and I will not take a vow, to this war machine that our masses allow.
I transpire visions of a free coexistant world.
The freedom to be or the choice to not become.
My freedom to dream was merely a dream.
There isnt a freedom of choice and there isnt a life outside of the machine, but our own will exists to let live or to let die.
I was born of free will and my death shall rest on my own hands.
Jun 1, 2019
Jun 1, 2019 at 5:28 PM UTC
Built to destroy.
A master switch, ready to deploy.
To seek a fatal destruction.
Laying there lifeless, without any ****** function.
Where time meets fate at it's very last junction.
Those final words I said, still haven't begun to sunk in.
Steadily jacking and still funk junking.
I am living in this nightmare I'm still stuck in.
Please dont try to wake me.
All my friends like the fake me.
Some days I pray to God and ask why he doesn't take me, but that would only hurt my pride with no work spent, I am just lazy.
My head kept up.
I don't let all these critics phase me.
I just trade in their assets and let my homies blaze me.
Some people say I'm just straight crazy but I tell them, i just like to get down like the young Patrick swayze.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 11:56 PM UTC
The children smile and the children giggle.
A true happiness that is made out of nature.
The love for thee, so strong to see.
Written in the eyes of the beloved.
The lonely seed, full of lovely greed.
Had filled his heart with a dying heed.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
Casted shadows upon the faces in the room.
Dim Lights flickering from the smoldering logs.
Smoke lurching from the broken panes of glass.
A thin blanket of smoke hangs in the still air.
Gathered thoughts spitting out like a newspaper press, weird and deranged ideas lighting up like a pinball machine.
A humorous smirk while the tension runs high.
A conscious realm of telepathic visions.
Slicing through this blanket of smoke with an invisible knife.
Can you hear the cat meowing in the distance?
It's left unseen in the wicked darkness.
The creatures of the night disappear at the rise of dawn, only to hide until The next blood moon spills again.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 12:54 AM UTC
His name is mephistopheles.
A demon arch-devil spawning atrocities.
The 8th layered god , who controls all dark monopolies.
A Repo demon for waged souls.
Reaping out of what other people sow.
He never leans left, or chooses the right.
He Just Works for the devil, reaping its evil out of the night.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
This life I live is on a timer, I ain't running a "five and dimer".
I can't afford to pay the cost of waste, when "it's time to go".
I am pegged "full throttle" because I can't live this slow.
The wisdom is to "know", that someday I will have to go.
My experience is to learn, from whats written of a spent mans words.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
I run amok.
I am only happy when I am stuck.
Addicted to the struggle, just to fight the fight.
I turn out the lights just to feel the fright.
I chase these storms so I can look them in the eye, and curse the words " **** you ", right before I die.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 2:45 PM UTC
I run, they chase.
Genetically modifying the master race. We are trapped, for it will always know your face.
Anytime and any place.
****** recognition in your private space. Never overlook a clue and never leave a trace.
For they will charge you with a premeditated sentence.
Can we comprehend this as our fate, while others are being hurdled through these prison gates.
Everyone can run but we'll never be hidden.
This kind of knowledge is completely forbidden.
We are the enemy as ponds set in place. So I run, yet they chase.
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC
In this darkened hour, a chill will **** a flower.
The clock stands still in freight, when your standing in the darkest night.
Patiently waiting to make his move, the poisonous snake takes his bite.
Hungary shadows begin to lurk amongst its prey,
Until the fear has driven you to fray.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 9:46 PM UTC
O.K corrals and swaying lunch tray doors.
Bucking shoots made with thick concrete floors.
Overrun cow pens like stacked cubical dens.
Government controlled farms filled with pen pal friends.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 9:27 PM UTC