What's it worth..
to eat under a home?
What's it worth?
What's it worth..
to breathe a sip of air?
Is it worth?
What's it worth..
to know and have knowledge?
How's it worthy?
What's it worth..
to have what you may want?
Is it worth it?

You want me to fear you.
Then you want me as a friend.
You want me to leave you,
then come right back again?
But I've done a bit of jumping,
and it actually wears me out.
You want my trust and sympathy,
but then you lie and make me doubt.
You don't even know,
so how ever could I?
I ask you simple questions,
but when hypothetical you ask why.
I just want some answers.
And you say I overthink?
But whose the try-hard mysterious guy?
You even hide your eyes just to blink.
Well I'm honestly done with these games.
You always think I'm joking but now I'm really not.
I'm tired of these mind games you huge genius,
and your lies are making me feel so distraught.
I'm breaking out in stress hives over nothing,
because nothing is these jokes you like to play.
But if both sides aren't really having fun,
then it makes sense for one of them to walk away.
And that is why I have to let you go now,
and trust me, I'm still having a good day.
I'm not like you, you stupid smarty!
I don't need fake pity to be okay!

The wall said "not anymore"

Mother searched school to capture the bullies. But the rapture that sang never rang a word to her.
"Capture the bullies!"
No, not anymore.
The father called on his group, but their theories flying south. She needed diagnostics. Something was wrong.
"Something was wrong!"
No, not anymore.
Not anymore because something was gone.
Something was wrong, but could not be diagnosed.
It could not be diagnosed by popping a dose.
The dope on the street,
the sky wasn't blue,
it's just blank.
What was wrong?
Oh yes, something's wrong!
And so the rapture rang, and it cawed and it clawed!
And it scratched at the window with a piece of a shirt, and a scripture to say
"NO! She wasn't okay!"
Does it take you so long to decide what was wrong?
Well it's not your decision!
Yes, something was wrong!
We knew it all along.
Something was soulfully, graspingly wrong!
But before you point fingers,
before you slam doors.
Please listen to the rapture,
"no, not anymore!"

Carefully I lay me down,
in a world so hectic,
and yet it matters.
It matters we were all placed gently.
In a world so hectic.
Born to breathe,
an air of fresh chemicals,
in a world so hectic.
I can't say why,
since I'm no god,
but in this world it matters.
In this world so hectic,
it matters
that we have lips and eyes.
It matters
that there is little hair on our heads that give life to buggies if we don't keep it clean.
It matters
that we have money in our pockets,
and shoes on our feet.
It matters,
and that isn't always the softest inside.
There may be holes in those pockets;
holes in those shoes,
but it matters.
Those holes are representing something new.
Something fresh.
Something before and not so bad, because
before humans touched this world did earth seem so sad?
Was earth dripping color?
Were raindrops filled with gas?
What about those cans you see,
scattered in the bay?
Do you think the world would still be sad,
if all it went away?
Not to say, we are to blame.
In fact, that's not my point.
I'm saying we are carefully placed in this loving,
small,
and hopeful place,
yet this hectic,
crazy,
brain-numbing place,
so carefully,
we can't misplace that this
this matters,
in some kind of way.
It must matter we were placed
in the world, though we wrecked it.
It matters we were placed
in a world so hectic

'Sometimes things just don't make sense and ignoring things won't make you dense, but some people can't say no, so if someday our minds do blow, from curiosity and such, we will no longer keep in our clutch, reality and questions thought, and hopefully we needn't sought the answers, non-factual, we've been taught.'

Answers are for dancers:
Never step left,
always step right.
Right on the course,
where loyalist fight.
Right in the angelic pose that they do.
In fact,
it'd be better if you weren't you.
Just act like they act and you can get by,
do as they do and never ask why.
Answers I give you my dancers,
my prancers,
answers I give you to move the right way.
Answers I give you my dancers,
my prancers,
because with my answers you never will stray.
But if you do,
I assure you,
you've clipped the strings,
and do know that it means
you will shunned,
an existence unseen,
by the people who dance,
the people who sing,
by all the people pulled by my string.

His question for me was "do you see the beauty in life?"
And I said "no."
He asked again if I saw beauty in the world.
I asked "was beauty simply a masquerade dance?
Was everything always just a word and a description?"
I didn't see beauty since it wasn't possible.
I saw a monotonous echo of bright wonders rolled over my head and the seed, out of center view, was a blushing blaze of white that I love but bask away from to keep from singing my sight.
But why would we hide from true beauty?