The best of us comes out when the rest of us is gone.

At least,
I hope that's the case as I just want to save face and get away when my days face me with the longest ways around.

The depression sets as I attempt to find my faded song's wasted namesake.
Looking for a better view of the days whereupon my incessant sighs are drawn.

Drawn like a depressive sketch,
With the pencil marks parked along the secrets to peace's faded spark.

My fallacy, you see,
I'd rather breathe within the seas than have to see these things the way they've gone,
Strung me along the heartstrings stretched so thin as to nigh be my patience with this broken masterpiece.

And so,

The best of us are broken when the rest of us are gone.

But, the best in us comes out,
When the rest of us is wrong.

My forgetfulness is a more successful entity than even I at times.
My trust in regretfulness often gets the better of me.

But yea,
I hunker down,
surrounded by unforgetfulness of the lack of silence.

I,
Defy the paradigm,
The escapist void,
Lines of code I refuse to obey.

I defy,
Defy,
All emotionalogic.
I make no sense,
Or a dollar that pays my way to ignorant bliss.

'Tis the streets upon which I so selfishly make my way and,
My gears turn with no source or destination.

I am the,
Status quo of the chronically out of place.
So,
Take that next step,
Show me.

With every stone you throw,
and my blood as mortar,

I will build my tower to the heavens.

Transcribe my sine wave,
     Rays like the sun.

Describe the unending normalcy.
   waves crashing: one too many.

Laser-focused against the (g)rain.
        Tsunami enraged.


Defiance is my resonant frequency,
      sorry to disappoint.

I am the way.

Explore my labyrinthian corridors,
From the walls to the hallways, to the unkempt floors.

'Tis in my mind I finally realize,
I have not the time to explore each and every door,

Precious, singular thoughts,
Expectedly drowning,
but in due course,
We are lost at sea in an ocean devoid,

emptied by the mindless wars.

When I get drunk,
I become one of you,
I become but a human.
I become one of you,
Just a normal one to be.

Say long to the anxiety,
I become one of you...
Normal...
Normalcy soon feels like a disease far away from what normal really seems.
I'm not really me.

Be one of me, Heathens.
Then you might see me be the creten that seems so far out of the current scene.

So, ha,
When you drink,
Who are you?
Because when I do,
I may not be me,
But I sure am the best version of whom I see,

I both hate the feeling,
And love who I see,
I am this distorted scream in the mirror to which I owe my very being.
To whom do I address this to? Certainly not you.
Just the future me,
The sobre boy who cannot really be,
A sane human being.