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The clock's ticking
ticking, ticking
a reminder that
we all must die

It's subtle tocking
subconsciously telling its tale;
live for today, for tomorrow
may be a hollow dream

I choose to live rather than to hasten death
feeling comfort in knowing that I do so to the fullest,
not storing empty promises, or
stacking lie upon lie

We live in moments, only fractions at a time
these moments come and go
teaching us that all things are temporal
and all things come with a shelf life

*even gods
I am on a journey  
and where it leads, I do not know
the bends and twists within my soul
leave my words and deeds feeling hollow

Am I the man I reflect
or a monster laying in wait
conflicting reports have come
and the doubt never abates

I try so hard to
be the best I know how to be
childish remnants stripped away
I'm left to navigate these canals of misery

Am I victim or villain
a product of an earlier fate
or is that just an excuse to unleash the demons
and become the thing  I truly hate

this battle never ends....
  Oct 2014 The Messiah Complex
Sjr1000
The air gets thicker
as my room gets darker
I can barely see my
name
my identity fades
as I evolve and change
until I become unrecognizable
even to myself.

We think we are
what we always will
be
time in the midst
stands still,
the illusions we weave
can only deceive
until the truth
is told to set us free.

In this life
everything we believe
we know is a dream
the power of ego
deceives us into thinking
we have more to win
or lose.

We puff up like
parrots
reciting our lines
of
sorrows or joys
in hopes to find
one moment of truth
but it's only for this
brief time.

I kick the rock
I lay with you
to remind me
in
this warm embrace of
your sweet arms
I finally
remember
I'm really real.
Remember us better than we were
and more than we are, better than zealots
and more than just pious primates, always trying to
find meaning in what is and what isn't, we fail miserably

yet still we climb

Unable to circumvent our final exit
we've fabricated imaginary friends, that left bread crumbs to guide us
our fate; self immolation, but we label it paradise
so enthralled with the after, we forget the now

to the hungry, even crumbs taste like kindness

We cite holy verses out of context
to condone genocide and our prejudices
the moral of their story, an afterthought
unless it suits our whim, our disdain and bigotry
thinly veiled in religious veneer

Our sabbaths, are spent professing our love one to another
just like the scriptures command us to
sinners and saints, pharisees and hypocrisy
we confess only the sins we choose to bring to light

Forgive me father, for I have sinned

I have planted myself near the wellspring of knowledge
my roots have grown deep, choking the life from the supernatural
my foolish superstitions wither, absent sustenance
allowing my branches to reach new heights, and yet

*still I climb
A repost
I think I lost my ability to write sober and it scares me shitless
Everything I've ever wrote that's worth something has been a product of drugs
Everything that has ever rhymed
and flowed
and ebbed like the sea has been a result of alcohol
I am a cliché
All of my thoughts are the same recycled ones of the media and social influence that are only brought to surface with chemicals in my bloodstream
All of my romanticism and pain and obsessive verses are mediocre when I am not high
I am not as creative as I claim
I am a fraud
I am a fraud.
Something I wrote a while ago.
**
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