At times it’s hard to wake up and not slip back into my dreams
I’d do this everyday if only I had the means
Why not live a life separate from reality?
What’s stopping me other than money, and social contracts?
Not to imply money is not a social contract
but it comes to the forefront of the mind when thinking
of metaphorical chains that bind me to your world.
Never felt as though I belonged here
My Feet have been tethered to the ground,
while my mind is trying to consort with the clouds.
It’s tearing me apart, splitting at the seams,
every bit of my being wants to break free
We’ve all been shackled, it’s high time to see
that freedom is hallucinatory.

I've come to ask
how subjective is time?
Not the pieces we keep
but the changes we define.
A second is objective, measured,
Yet a moment is held in the mind.
We perceive reality through patterns
which can be expressed mathematically,
Relative to what we conceive, as chances
cohere to determine our chosen state of being;
The question has been: do we actually determine?
Or is it just endless reflection! Can choice shape teleology
and is it more than just mere binary, perhaps a continuum
of infinitely/eternally collapsing wave functions in computation
as the brain strains itself to make sense of this oncoming reality;
Do we lose all semblance of existence when that magnificent ***** is destroyed and at what point does this occur if it gradually degrades? I shall now state that truth, meaning and belief are three sides
of the same coin. You've got three choices
but only two chances,
Not that it matters;
T'was a toss up between genius and madness
but it landed on forlorn and simply rolled away
down an alley into abandon, longing and sadness.

Not what I claim to be
amazing, the level of hypocrisy
even in mundane conversation
lies roll of the tongue
in rhythmic beats
scripted sheets
pre-written dialogue
spit like *****
out of the mouths of ideologues
preaching ignorant unity
and pro-rated conformity
catching the youth
at alarming rates
and so quick it's done
from the first yarn spun
conversely the idea
of total honesty
has toyed with me
but I couldn't
couldn't continue
too much to lose

ignore all possible concepts and possibilities ---
ignore Beethoven, the spider, the damnation of Faust ---
just make it, babe, make it:
a house  a car   a belly full of beans
pay your taxes
****
and if you can't ****
copulate.
make money but don't work too
hard --- make somebody else pay to
make it --- and
don't smoke too much but drink enough to
relax, and
stay off the streets
wipe your *** real good
use a lot of toilet paper
it's bad manners to let people know you **** or
could smell like it
if you weren't
careful

my, my how the time flies
when you're nothing more
than a passerby
in your own life
it's easy to get caught up
in the clouds floating by
but you don't live in the sky
so avert your eyes
et fais attention
to your ration of time
because the end is nigh
and beginnings continue to die
but as is well when the story
is written in the dead of night
under the watchful guise
of stars so impossible high
above

My dreams keep getting confused with reality
I can't tell if I'm awake or sleeping
as the lines start bleeding
write my memories/thoughts down
to ground myself
and try to stay out of bounds
inspiration never comes easily
but those brief moments it does
the words fall to the page seamlessly
drawing pictures with lines of poetry
using words to emote

I have often mistook
the abrasiveness of
this work, as an assault.
The continuous pressure
as overwhelming.
But, is it not coarse
paper, that is used
to polish?
Is it not pressure
that forms rare jewels?
Existence will always
be volatile, and
too often we push away,
but we must remember
what great beauty
can blossom from pain.