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.

My face has left
With the sun,
Leaving the moon in my chest
To rot with the
Dark in the rain.

A sickness has stricken me,
My body upside down.
A breathless existence
Couped into a rain cloud.

A damaged eye contact
Remains temporary, indefinitely.
Laughter imposes,
My immediate space
Has become unsure,
A deep blue of a blur.

I'll dye my hair gray
And paint myself in rage
To match our wonderful race.

I'll fight for our rights
And look to my left then
Turn my cheek as
My allies like right.

I'll stand in a crowd and
Yell real loud while the
Rest of them sit,
And then I'll sit down.

I'll dye my hair gray
And paint myself in rain
As my body decays and
I wither away.

My body is flowing with a negativity.
Depression is filling my lungs with every breath.
A flurry of restlessness
Resides beside me in the empty
Space where I sleep,
Leaving a bitter taste
Where taste isn't the case,
Or the expected sense.

Flopping myself on the
Floor of the Internet to
Be mindlessly ridiculed
And rejected.
I know my thoughts are mine,
My creations for me,
My art for I,
Though I feel the need to
To share.
The need to blurt out and
Pull on my own hair when
Their shoe dirt is in my nostrils
And their sole is in my gleam
And glare.

There is a feeling of
Necessity to let my
Head free into other's world's
And it is killing me.

Truly the death of the communication age,
Leading me to follow,
Current textbooks fluent in rejection
To the students they serve.

Brainwashing in thick salt water,
Drowning in a taste that makes faces,
Gloating achievements and attention,
Filing for societal filters to get
Through obligations created by
Degenerate scholars.
Glaring into darkness and
Twinkling laughter silent after
Punishments now turned to powder.

Gallantly quiet in a world of opinions
Stretching from borders that fire
At each other through 140 characters.
Given all that's left are blind readings
Of sarcastic articles titled with bait
On a hook like worm covered worms.

I'm truly left in confusion reading
The forward to the epilogue of a
Torn apart villainous wreckage
Scattered into the brains of a
Clueless populous in hope for
Worlds to meet in collision
And turbulence.

Uncertain and unstable
In an addict filled fable
Finding patterns in personality,
In time laps, I've fallen.

Fallen victim to my fears,
My pessimistic fears,
I've become a robot
Just drinking ******* beers.

As I write in water and
The birds fly,
I try not to see in the upside-down.
Change is for your wealth
The stress has trickled down.

Knowledge of a fort night
I can only wish in a night,
And the forgiveness of a flower
Is a blessing from our mothers

Seeing through a barrel,
My eye becomes lodged in,
Seeing from the inside,
Forcing the view of thought;
Necessary for a diplomatic plot.

Letters from my head in the realm
Of the half dead
Leave me pondering for an hour
After a quick morning shower-
After I've seen the unseen and
Act with cowardous power.

The state of Nirvana,
in the gloomy, rainy city
everyone hates to love,
became famous for hatred
and sadness,
died just the same-

like the state of nirvana,
calm and once overcome
with sadness, dying
just the same
in a city that loves to hate.

In the recent death of my
funeral friend, we climbed up a tree.
All the way at the top we found a
peach and the breeze.
And as time passed on,
I had realized I had seen
my friend leave me, for
the beautiful breeze.

A fearing optimistic tries
so hard, for so long
to see his hopes fly away
and fall among the corpses
of his ways.

Returning once again
fearing the future in front of him.

Often-
I do not feel I've softened,
among the shallow grave
of the high ten,..
yearning for the execution
of the rest of them.

Not often do I feel the presence
of others in the narcisism
of the mirror in their pockets and
in the ego in my noggin...

And not often do I sweat from
the realm of ideas in the
middle of a winter that never
sees the cold.

Not every so often

What really hurts?
Make sure to be clear, misinterpretation can be fatal
In the game your brain plays.

Now for me, deception still holds a
warm cozy place in my head.
Eating on my decaying body,
trying so hard to reach my
essence.
Since after I realize this, I must
decipher the message:

I still lie to myself, telling myself I'm
Honest.
And dominately, I'm the follower,
the front follower.
I conclude: in depth, I'm sort of empty,
depressingly.

maybe I'll just sleep

My trident is dull
and the sea is getting deeper-
up until it sees the sun and
and leaves...

left in a hurry- but the right way
after such a tragedy in the history of
sin-
and complex emotions word of
tongue cannot show the remoteness
of our essence

I'm dragging gently in a
toxic hallway; my friend
of a thousand years-
under a neurotic microscope
only to observe and destroy.

Nurtured since birth,
we see celestial inverts-
flooding  the streets with
nothing but nonsense, it seems-
Seeing different colors
as different matter matters only
to the minds eye in a mirror revealing
the real visions of a blind eye-

deep within the depths of the
cataracts is a sense of sight described
like a battle axe-
wisely used on occasion.

As one, we are depressed,
cultured and senseless-
begging for rights and
asking for forgiveness-
hoping to see light amongst the
starving and helpless, still
adjusting to nothing but
sheer recklessness.

Indefinite and infested
with a plague, we have become,
not even hell is a better place
for satan to be home,
it seems he has settled
among the nest and rested
his heavy little head
right on your brand new dresses.

A delicate facility
holding a capacity of around
two-hundred
is taking control
of the present lesson
being presented, as only
true.
- a pleasant blessing -
im told.

It's hard to believe,
and almost harder to
imagine accurately without
drastically changing the
way we look at life;
(Blasphemously),
if we don't
think the same,
do the same,
be the same,
                          Well I refuse

A new approach to things-
may seem.. Frightening.
a click, trickled down into a
different land-
shows the horizons of a
striving, bitter man,
and his loved ones.

I can't seem to love one-
of the 7 billion that claim
they are someone-
THE one-
That answers after
they listen,
and dances in
the distance-

Even in the rain- I smile
a delightful frightening
new smile.

We've seen all sides of the sun
since the last day you sung,

since the day before you continued
your journey among the mountains
of the forgotten, and the
rivers of the stars,

since the day you taught me what this life
really has in store for all of us, no matter the
money or
success your solid body contests to,

addressed now, as the dead
of a dying breed, i thank you
for the time you spent
and the air you breathed,
until i am as well dead,
living with a nature in need.

To witness a ritual that takes
only seconds,
over and over again
until perception is changed in one;
maybe the other-
can be like hell,
eating at you and making you ill
day by day,
as valves burst thoroughly
ripping apart and through
your very breathing chest-piece.

And it's taken all this to realize
ive been seeing the wrong colors,
using the wrong crayons
and coloring too neatly within given lines
in this place of perfection in
my eyes.

Love has been the greatest lie
that lies face first,
on the face of this earth.

It's not about big suprises,
or the feeling that arises
under our ***** sheets.
And it's not about trophies
of the perfect;
or who looks best shirtless
on the screen in front of your face.

It's not even about waiting till marriage
and riding away on a diamond carriage
to your beautiful honeymoon
on which you two, will stay true
to one another
and love eachother
in sickness
and health,
and one day, hopefully, wealth
for your beautiful children
and their futures.

It's about completely changing your view on the world,
as a worldly figure is now your homeland,
And noticing how colors seem brighter
in the daytime, and heavier in the dead of the night.
It's about feeling like you could die,
but at the very same time, loving life
like you never felt before.
It's about feeling what's right
in the midst of all the wrong
in this life:

Love

Is it unusual to hate life
before 20?
To not understand why
we pretty up for a party?
To focus on things that maybe
aren't JUST about me?

Is it unusual to daydream
at night?
To wish for wings, and like birds,
take flight?
To get up everyday,
and feel like
i'm losing this gift of
a fight.

Is it unusual to see everyone as a fake,
only acting, for monetary intake?
To look through old lenses,
in a new frame,
and take a dive into
my own lake?

Is it unusual to look out my window to see only plastic?

fables of pheromones have me
searching for lust outside of
learning to love and
a genuine care for the
human race.

hearts left at bedside, as
normal love set aside
and frightened lovers
turned to a fresher side
of new conditions
and a newer rendition
of what we call love.

Soon you will see,
that it's not about you or me.

and that it's just like methamphetamine.

making your heart race by just
looking at her face, and an
expression of depth;
like getting away with theft
of a real love.