I sat next you,
watching you search for God
3,000 miles in limbo
hoping you didn't find
the mumbo jumbo I did
when I really thought about dusty books.

You asked for weather updates.
Please.
So I whispered in your cemented ears,
'cause you can't see a ******* thing
but progressive buildings.
It was as grey as the inside of your eyelids, anyway.

Right when I walked in,
my face went dead pan
with your fresh decision to die.

Anyway,
I sat.
I whispered.
It was fine.

I spectated on our situation.
Your sweating breathes,
my sweating eyes.
We're natural.
We don't matter.
Emotions are natural.
They don't matter.

When the dusted books disintegrate,
and mumbo jumbo weasels from
that little pocket most have cemented shut,
we'll feel much better.
I do feel much better.

Feel freely
fall freely
observe in captivation
stay here, while there.

Purpose
has only brought stress.
Try absurdity.
Try reality.

Ignorance is bliss
i dont like feeling
im sitting on a broken record
that keeps replaying
through the same crooked
emptiness

i..i dont even know what i want to say....
my inspiration is hallow.
I cannot seem to dig deep enough
to actually feel
to actually breath
and understand
all of the thoughts
drifting through my head.
the thoughts are like ghosts.
i am haunted

we are all trying
to pull all of our thoughts together
so that we might understand
the meaning
of what it is to be ALIVE
but right now they are just lines
systematically following each other
with no common theme.
its all gibberish
rambling
similar to a city
after a tsunami
washed out and faded
with the wreckage
built up
from old memories

(At least you know
You are on my subconscious
Even if I doesn't seem like it)

Seven trillion dots.
And they say no two are the same.

Each similar.
Composed of the same substance.
All the same thing.

Like snowflakes, they say each and everyone is unique.

I don't feel unique.

I can draw.
So can anyone else.

So whats so special about me?
One little dot.
A speck.
Nothing but dust.

Like everyone else one day I will die.
My body will decay, and memories of my flesh will be forgotten.
Just like you.

Each dot is a dot.
And there is nothing special
about a dot.