Cult popularism overtakes my brain
Conformity rushing unwillingly, stiflingly, down my throat

The literature of the mind taken from me
By my own devices
The lure of the cliched mass' is oblivion
Fufillment of an expected mold
Individuality of thought drains away

May my overthinking of all be lost
In this teenage stereotype

Words flowing from my mouth like liquid mercury
Coiling, and slithering through the air
Coalescing into the minds of others
As notions of charisma

Speech becomes a means to an end
A tool, to be used for gain
To control; to chain the individual with emotive language
To subvert with honeyed syllables

No longer is the master wordsmith an artist
But a con-man

What if, what may
Who cannot avoid the sway.
Of words gone past and futures dark,
All fall be nay marked.

Concubine of cautious connivers,
You all have nought to leave.
For in this utter dance you care to fake,
You have yet learnt to believe

So on again off again,
This is the last you'll hear of me.
Just dance your sweet little steps,

And ignore my fiddle-de-dee.

Disassociating from life
A self-assured little leaf,
Adrift upon the dry winds of doubt
Never to land, or to be landed upon in turn

For what view is old,
May yet be born again
Through experience
Through rationál
Through the ever twisting enigma of lifes currents
For what is the finish, without the journey

For life does not have a meaning
Besides the one we give it

Cracks run through you, doubt has overtaken; in a blighted show of this modern world
Faith, no longer enough for those with razor minds, 'though all of us make a leap at some bedeviled stage

For life, 'tis not knowable in its entirety
One needs to opinionate themselves to a world view, slick reasoning giving way to crunchy ideas that rot the soul
A faction; to alleviate lonliness' in dogma

In this age of logic
We have lost our heart

Repetition lessens the impact;
I've seen it all before
Your tears may glimmer in the light
But they draw no reflection in my heart

Sometimes I think of what you used to mean
A dazzling girl, full of fire
But now you are pettiness incarnate,
drawing something less than nothing on my emotions subtle chords

So sing your sad tune all you like little birdy
For your song has lost its meaning

Roll on, from the dusty annals of recent history
Move on, from the cramped expectations of the modern age
Live on, from the collapsing of youthful expresionism in the face of a cynical world'

Move up, from your designated station
Crouch down, beneath the flickering lights of blank popularism
Stand tall, in the face of all that expects you to cower
Bow low, in respect to those who have had the courage to create the path less traveled

And never, never, nevermore; take life for granted

Pulsing dance light,
Blaring in the face of all that drink it in
Adventures and shenanigianry abound;
Finding hearty new compatriots amongst the fellow inebriated

All that is left of memory is pleasant fuzz,
A sense of a truely teenage experience glowing fufiled
The flattened grass may be mangled beyond belief, sacrificed to the beat,

But oh, what a time to be alive