My eyes, they grow
Weak and weary
Waking up and feeling teary
Look around, I see tyranny
So look to me, I have a theory:
In this corner of space
With no distance nor pace
I have no place where I will amount
A discount version of every human to come out
2 for 1, another sequel
Who will live to see my dismount?
I have no mission aided by superstition.

Nostalgia is a drug
One hit and you're fixed
Begging for more of a kick
Harsher ingredients in the mix
All a remix of what came before
Back when your hopes and dreams
Weren't ruined at twenty-four
Buying into the naivety of the scene
They painted the picture
So I am erasing the canvas
Blind to the times which we currently exist
Some things were positive
Some things were negative
But to buy into an illusion is to be addicted to past expositives
An ex-positive, an antidepressant that acts as a suppressant
Dressed to impress
Feeding into the happiness you and I once prepossessed
We all love what once came before
But as we lay weeping on the floor, remember:
Nostalgia is a carnivore, not a mentor

To the mall
Unending road of halls
I look around, all the same
Muted in play, perfect in pay
A singularity, polarity
In solidarity, I see beneath the regularity
Place of no grace with an average pace
Staring out into subspace
I say to this face:
I am tired of this workplace.

Walking through a forest
Eyes around, but not noticed
Snapping twigs unleash no motion
Blind to the world, deaf to the squirrels
Destroying peaceful beasts
To make a centerpiece
Why do I feel so at peace
In a place of pure grease?
Nature is a masterpiece, always released
Free from the connections that bring no direction
Upon reflection, this place is a correction

Silence
The most insulting of violence
Small flames burn brightest
Turning darkness to brightness
Yet unification led to the devastation
Weapons of disintegration
Bombs with clear identification
Playing it safe
Every single day
For the ignorant who take heed
Breed a pleading stampede
Superseding the old
While overtaking the meek
How can we root out the weak when we all pray to the antiques?
Falling victim to doublespeak
A boutique of freaks, oblique

Losing interest in accommodation
Of cash and rapport
A fortified compound
No rehabilitation for the whole nation
Surrounded by wilderness
In the thick of bliss
Bars covering up the truth
What's the prognosis?
Secrecy arrives once love dies
Time flows clockwise
Questioning the enterprise
Becoming neutralized
Turning away from the truth I recognize
Personalized, traumatized
Mesmerized by thoughts I overemphasize  
Symphonies of praise
Bring to me no gaze

Woke up again, 3 AM
Subconsciously trying to tell me
That things are amiss
Is there a point that I have missed?
Answers on a horizon I cannot fathom
Eclipsing my vision, iris circumcision
Decisions to make, faces to fake
As my feet quake, hope gets raked
Such an ache
Wanted a rhapsody
Received a lament, such a descent
On top of the world like a king and queen
Entertaining hypotheticals
Hope is not in the reticule
I'd call myself prophetical if more were esthetical
Wanting more from myself
While my health gets put on the shelf
Flying high in the sky
Until I wake up
Then my feet and future become clandestine