I choose to be brainless
Confused in the basics
She tells me I'm a pagan
I have no affiliation
And that I'm trapped in a matrix, please
I have to maintain it.
I'm placed with insane pricked needs
Could i simply change it
If i speak to rearrange things
Keep my mind with common placenecy
The place they made for taming me
In the basic lament trip with a tragic caveman sip of dramtic twists
I'm sick of this.

Flowers.. blissfully cuddled amongst their counterparts dripping from the rain without hearts.
Thorns and petals might tear apart. Walls breaking where humans would make art, start vivid heart beats.
Flowers need no release.
They have no concern for the birds and the bees, with their entanglement feast.
Flowers need no release.
Fantasies dart about them. There's something smart about them.
There's a heart above them.
Held to her snout inhaling different forms of forgiveness for figuratively speaking...
Should the flower form fond familiar feelings towards their fifth cousin getting plucked for something so redundent as love...
If the flower kept it's heart in the part of the story where a piece of their self is taken for decor on madam's shelf.
If the flower even cared...
It would be scared.
It would be heart broken and underprepared
Oh the joy of a flower that has no need for a heart.
The painless powerful presence of the breathe of Mother Nature's blissful joy.
To be a being who needn't breathe in pure seeming, stress relieving, sweet tasting oxygen.
And breathe out Carbon Dioxide.

I'm caught between being a man, having a dream, and being a fan.
A number one supporter for my brethren.
I can't get to them, long conversations about they day. I can't get to them, detailed descriptions about the way they changed from yesterday.
Think I spend too long scribbling notes and curating songs.
Chasing a dream where I'm standing on top of the world.
But my assigned seat is a pond.
Speaking for the stones, chirping crickets, and bones.
That one small step looks so far while sitting on comfortability's throne.
Distorting the stars that I'm shooting for.
My people need food and more.
I can't spend days shooting through the war for best writer you know.
Running over corpses who owe their lives to those who were there when the system bled.
Some thoughts slow to clear my head:
How many bullets can buy a loaf of bread?
See men have the option of 'by any means' when the children cry to be fed.
The option to paint our fist red...
But the feds are an issue, and I certainly wouldn’t be spared.
The fourth option of sitting on my hands would have me moving like i never cared.
And that's not what my soul and God said while i was scared looking into a future when i wasn't prepared.
They told me to keep writing about my dreams, so as a man...I'll say what they said.

So, in conclusion.
The captain decides who boards the ship.
Members aboard have to deal with the time spent breathing on a ship with...nakama.
Marines hop from ship to ship. I guess they put their hope in ship to ship.
Regardless, it's why they oppose us.
Our ideals.
Our operations.
Us.
Me.
Honestly, the sea is the sea. But people floating around me can't see. At least they perceive what need they believe.
But they do this upon the sea.
Hence, the sea is the sea.
Theus theory.
We need to breathe through mist, among other things.
Risks and other means.
To achieve being greater beings.
But it's okay not to reach these things.
As okay as your captain lives.
If he's okay with it, then let me believe.
In the option he receives... received.
I believe, I believe...
The AI would lead me to think.
I believe that i can be the captain I follow.
The captain who carries his past in hallow fragments where it shifts and borrows future estrangments to present arrangements
Whoa.
Maybe not estranged but rearranged into a casket of pure simple tamed dimples with silent whispers.
The problem : I talk.
After that, name baring, fear declaring, clear shattering, rear factored in sphere matter, and it appears that it'd peer shatter if they speak clatter neglecting clear factor's my fear is in the latter. But...what should matter if the kids don't matter?
I'm just saying that a generation is chasing the shape of Cleo Petra
And we can't be a certain guy with a sword.
Maybe he had a point in burning the books.
Maybe he had a point in falling in love.
Maybe he came from far and realized sometimes you need to stop things from peeling apart.
Through thorns and wrath.
Through an excruciating path.
You need to get to where it's art.
A land where the sea might part.
Two realities where life found a start.
I miss the sea more than i thought i would.
Being a pirate is more in the plot than it should.
Please don't let me be Misunderstood.
I only mean you have to get by doing what you can because you should.
Today's times prove that humans aren't all good.
In the media and...well, where they aren't good.
I wonder what my ancestors would say.
How they would feel.
What they'd see, when they see what's become of me.
Wait. What's the best way to give honor to history.
Without noting the misery in mysteries buried under history's nefarious missing delegates.
Never mind them, people's parents and...societal comparisons to superheroes with their caring emotional variants.
Making villains prepared for causing more emotional worse for wear.
Well, I'm under prepared.
A little bit scared. And over prepared for dares that come with... welll... assumptions for something better than for now.
As i clear and plow.
Sew seeds in a vow.
So respectfully, if the bulletproof vest is me, then I'm definitely sitting in the back, you'll see, protecting what rests with me when i breathe through peace's Symphony.
You know...to the sky, we're all standing upside down.
Clouds see right through the smiles finding frowns.
It really is a brighter day when the clouds don't make a sound.

The memories that play on repeat
Turn over sheets, creating irreparable incomplete illogical theories that i brand so selfishly in the way i display my humanity.
I'm not sure if that's worth abandoning when they are memories...
Memories that come from me.

So whisper me this
What need i speak
To convince thee
To remain with me
In this
After morn' ?
What would it take for you to bypass my scorn.
Resuscitate while the birds chirp and morn.
Another morning walking on thorns.
Facing spaces with their horns.
Faces breed from harm.
Traces in their songs. Of mornings beyond.
Its not complex unless you think them wrong.
Because my path is laced in that song.
Evidence of the times and what's going on.
I mean, they don't mean to sit with the devil forming bonds.
But he runs tests through our moms.
If you haven't noticed...
I have my own shade of horns.
They show when i hit you on the horn.
Harm is harm, thats the deal we made in our humane forms.
Your arms are in the wrong place, shaking hands selling our land to the past, while the future disappears...
At last...
Its gone past.

I'm going through a thing; where all my friends are parking on the brink. They sitting out my reality, they no longer message and ****.
I'm getting text from my employers. I'm moving like the Tom Sawyers. But they don't see that, I think. Denominator is me, and the chaos I drink.
It's the 64 percent in my skin.
I cannot lie that I'm in, a confined superficial type dream where I'm happy and grin. Because their presence is thin. They got weapons i mean, the way they leave me on seen.
Got me seeing in grim.
Their tendencies stings.
Guess that's just more *** for my drink, making me spin, so i won't have to think of their swing. They use a bat as a pin, let the sewing begin.
Do they know that their stitches are mean. Covering scars i ain't seen. I know that the peoblem's within. I know I'm the problem but then...why do I know so much about them?
Like a family friend, who's never welcome again.
I find it hard to pretend, while apologizing again.
For my perspective's bred sin.
I don't really miss them i mean...i know I'm lying by this.
But tell me where the point really is?
If we won't have love for each other's spouses and kids...