We live in a society were the physical world shadows the metaphysical.
We live in a society were money precedes life.
Students are broke(n) like the loans that imprison them.
Death and taxes are inevitable, but it seems that taxes are more of a threat then death itself.
The greenback alludes us into becoming vicious consumers praying on the wealth of others.
We live in a society turned upside down. Broke(n).

Earth can see.
Follow.
And Doubt.
That is,
A Dream.

Everyone pursues,
None fall short,
Seeing is believing,
The contrast is short.

Not everyone gains,
For slow they make.
Courage.
It's what counts.
Not.
Gain.

The horror is real.
The weather never changes.
Ticking.
Infinity stopping.
Mystified in awe,
I cannot miss the suspense.

Evolution cycles through infinity,
Moving closer and closer,
To the event horizon.

From subatomic particles
To infinite number of multiplexes,
Evolution widens it aperture.

The circumference of infinity,
Is moving and still,
For no visual aid may see its Eternity.

A shield I hold in one,
A sword in another,
I follow the battle to the end.
Glowing, I leap into the air with rage.
I fear not.

A whack of cold wind passes.

The rage is lifted,
Something curious creeps in,
Death is emerging,
I fall to the ground,
I wait.

I feel the chimes of birds,
Flowing in the wind,
My eye's close shut.

I slide in and out of my room,
closing the door ever-so-gently,
I don't come back until the break of dusk.
Sometime later.
I feel like I can't go into my own apartment,
I cannot trust myself to leave any doors open,
Or even leave my toothbrush not hidden.
I fear the creaking of the shadow in the other room.
They live with nothing.
They live with horror,
and muster up terror.
I am afraid of seeing the shadows utter in the space of our apartment.
The sun doesn't shine on our space,
it burns it.

The man with shadowy eyes
walks down to Seven Eleven
with a chill,
down his spine.

Step by step,
his pace quickens,
with the darkness in mind.
He looks back and forth,
to find,
paranoia,
has caught his eye.

A skull full of doubt
can shrivel the mind,
when a sense of horror,
creeps behind.

On and on he goes,
to the corner store,
he fly's,
to find nothing more
than lights,
to entertain his eyes.

Take your time and write away
Time will come close and follow your skill,
You will forget some and lose some
But, learning will hap and increase mastery,
Flow, you must; Conquer you will.
Again, doubt will ponder thy thoughts
For, greatness happens in increment,
Like language itself, differ through evolution
Your writing too will ensue through exploration.

Frustration withers my mind.
I float around today like a piece of string.
Nothing seems to be going right,
So I rub my temples and ground myself.
Far from focusing on reality,
Any distraction tornados my focus.
All I want to do is follow my ambition,
But I cannot get the wind to blow in my direction.

There is a time and a place
    a mind intolerable
Of a wistful case; chased.

He crawls out of the mud,
starving for light,
no matter what the cost.

All he needs is an inkling,
just a tad,
just a moment,
just a rhythm,
To know he's winning.

Divinity,
he seeks
may be pure,
may be white,
but absent of light,
for the man in blight.

A great man doesn't fall from the sky,
He crawls out of the mud,
wet, raw, and ready to fight.

The water drips,
The air purifier withers,
The dryer combusts and the airplanes slither,
Breaking sound barriers I cannot fathom,
I sit here in my bed.
To fall asleep,
To all the sounds that I use to count sheep.

If you ever find yourself laying in bed,
With the lights down,
Unable to fall asleep,
Close your eyes...

Follow the abstract nature of the world you seek,
When you walk through the hallways of your eyes,
Infinity seems like a good possibility.

The city rages with echos.
Moving.
Cars flag down people,
People flag down dreams.

They never stop.
Flowing through traffic.
Blinding.
The city is climbing.

As I wait for the movement,
My legs stress.
Wait.
As I board the metal I seek my dream.

He was denied a thought.
He sat abrupt.
He feared the worst.

Moving closer to madness,
rubbing his neck.
A wind shifted in his direction.
He turned cold.

Everything around him seemed to get grayer.
He shuts his bags,
wanting the thinking to stop.
How much more could he possibly muster?
He thought.

Beautiful things do not ask for attention.
Sovereignty for it's own rite.
To capture the unattached,
Their words I will not change.
The stranger they are the more beautiful they become.