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“To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles … ”

I find comfort in the sea of troubles
Yet, I enjoy drama springing from drawn bows
Is it worth the riches doubled
If solely gained through making foes?
A game of thrones is drawn on daggers
Sheathed beneath a sacred cloth
Do you force yourself to stagger
Drawn to the warmth of new gods?
Or do you throw it all away -
A peasant to a smaller fate
To find richness in each new day
Where in small comforts you partake?

Pretentious lies the one being

Left speechless lies his brother

They cannot hope to share what they’re seeing

With
               one
                              another
Dat Shakespeare, doe
Nothing more than something to look at
Nothing more than a stake in the ground


Nothing more
          than movements in the wind
Is there life after death?
What will happen in the end?
What's the difference in thinking
between women and men?
What's the meaning of life?
How'd it all begin?
If there's a battle for our lives
will good or evil win?
Do ghosts exist,
or the monsters 'neath my bed?
Is this all a dream
that I've made in my head?
Is the world what's moving,
and I'm always still?
Are we guided by fate
or our own free will?
What came first,
the calf or the bull?
Is my glass half empty
or is it half full?
What is love?
How long will I live?
In order to take
must one also give?
Did the Sopranos all die?
Is karma legit?
Ask yourself this:

Should I even give a ****?
When did you earn the right to feel anything,
anything but wonder when it comes to me?
When did I lose the privilege of trust?
Around the same time I found wanderlust.

He came to us
dressed to the knives
and peeled our flesh away
with fingers like nines.
The poor, dumb and useless
bank on oblivious,
and you just stand there:
******* oblivion.

A lioness
A lying mess
A lioness
A lying mess

******.

Contempt.

Content.

I bought a ticket to Seattle.
Yeah, I tried to get away.
But this forgotten state of mind
has your hands on me.
I'm not from golden California
The home of the laid back
I'm a sharp mind stuck in the
Midwest
A needle lost in the hay stack

— The End —