Remember what it's like to be a person.
Remember that people only want to be loved and validated.

Remember what it feels like to make a life long friend in twenty minutes by simply picking up our instruments and playing the first thing that comes to our heads.
Remember when that song is over and you forget how to play it immediately.
Remember knowing you will never have that moment again,
creating a painting of an experience in your mind forever.

Remember when the song is over and you play a new one.

remember what it's like to attempt to use keyboard shortcuts when writing freely and recognizing how accustomed to my surroundings I am.

Remember what it's like to be a person.
Remember that people only want to be loved and validated.

I am a delusional human wearing my skin wrong
in the beginning of summer while my worries persist.

Three whole days of wake,
lying to myself,
forgiving my past,

my luck runs incredibly deep.

I'm coming right back,
straight to the mist.
Life within the confines of relation.
The city in my new land surrounds my thought -

my eyes open. - awake in my world.
Aware of intent is the general lustful idea and, perhaps,
as usual, I'm humiliated through impatient decisions.

Luck stays as he chooses.
To be truthful, I have become fond of his nature,

yes, I am alone in my thoughts.

Throughout the day,
we seem to meet back up in a shadow.
Blank pages appears in faces across from me

- It is true that in his world you are the Earth's shadow. -

Friendships blossom from a choice made by my lingering friend.
He is truly as free as I think I am.
From true darkness inside of you is where he pulls his ink.
He teaches a lesson of isolation as well as your history class,
but in fact, we are all he has to occupy his time. Actually,
he exists because of you.
He resides between your eyes to show you as he likes.

Fear hinders; drained of potential is not his purpose.
Despite the inconsistencies, I do not mind the trade-off.
Both he and I find peace of mind in chaos

The sound of the siren through my window heightens my senses to a natural stench of fear fuming from my heartless attempts at a better life.

My will has devoured me again appearing as a painful white paragraph on the outskirts of my thoughts.
Blood gorges my heart and blurs my vision for only a moment.
Deep within my skull is a spotlight of my truest delusions.
A noticeable passing of fear becomes a priority to last amongst my filthy habits. Maybe then, i would shed myself to the past,
as my friends in my desert home do.

Obsessive with status is how I see myself
In relation to reasonings for deliberate,
Real action.
Through my eyes in myself, I push on my mirrors to distort gently among the broken glass throughout the vast soil.
A parallel mix for genres of a life form seems to be my current state residing as an enigma the human condition refers to as anxiety.

Am i flying,
Am i afraid?
Is it dying,
Am i far away?
I am sure there is fear,
But it is fleeting, as my body will be.
As i am dying, my body will see
a whole world modeled after only me.