Lyricism, is always fun
to play with.
Going with the natural
flow of conciousness,
And not being conscious
Of the never ending film
Of life.
Living as it is
And know how,
How to be, is. Never
Questioning what you know,
But knowing what you know
Is as much as you know
For that second.

I write in fragments,
Becoming more stagnant
'Til I write nothing at all.

And so I falter:
Stammer, stutter, stumble.
Mumble. As my words crumble.

These notebooks I've filled?
Toss them. Tear pages out.
Destroy it; fury unbound.

Let's dissect the hate.
I'd hate to disappoint.
Disappointment? I digress.

I'm trying so hard.

I'm pulling for my words.

I'm stammering.
           I'm stuttering.

It is a sudden rush of worries.

My mind is swimming in thoughts I can't sort.

I'm getting clammy,
            People are staring.

Everyone is going to see the real me.

My heart is quickening.

I'm drowning,
             but everyone else is breathing.

Someone, help me.

It sounds ridiculous but only I feel productive when I'm doing nothing.
Sitting back, just relaxing.
Popping blue beans, burning bowls of green.
And just thinking.
Daydreaming about how things could have been.
How things could still be.
But how things will probably be.
Just close your eyes and let music be your guide.

Entire lives constructed and played out
in grand fashion. A world so detailed
I would rather get lost,
And never come back to this travesty of a society,
so raw and primal.
so human.
My world is so beautiful and yet so depressing
because it's what ours could be, but never will become.
Anything to distract me from this.
The 24 year old burnout grinding through school because there aren't many options left.
So where will I'll be in 5 years?
I wont.