Hypothetically speaking,
If I were to narrate my dreams prophetically,
It seems: I do not belong, I am wrong, and wanted gone.
But with my proper knowledge,
And feeling of my subconscious slipping unconscious;
I say to myself; you belong, your dreams are wrong,
But are they?
Realistically speaking,
I see I lack potentially having potential that would or could ever be more then potential.
So maybe I don't belong,
Maybe my subconscious wishes nothing more
But to awake me into the realization of this false reality my cage dwells in, fears in.
I thank god for this to be only my temporary shell.
A temporary Cell.

These feeling all these feelings,
How these feeling consume me.
Oh, all these feelings;
Happy, excited, delighted, glad, mad, sad!
Oh these feelings; haunting me taunting me!
How these feelings torture me as if evils own works.
Feelings, oh these feelings,
But some are good; some are bad.
Oh, how some make me feel so very alive!
Oh, how some make me desire to die!
Feelings, all these ''feelings'',
Feasting on the substance of my mind;
Consequently leading to the flesh.
How these feelings are a demon,
And this death is an exorcism!
Maybe one can be free on the other side.
Maybe I can be free on the other side.

The sky looks pretty about this pity little city.
God bless us! And them! Oh, and him too!
What is one to do with all this to do?
I guess I'll proof steadfast in my battle on persistency,
and cast and reel in hope to catch a bit of hope,
and hope that karma and negative consequences are not the consequence.
But, until I feel the tug I'll desperately search to quench my thirst,
and ponder about* all of my thoughts and all of your words.


*About, as used in context- around: or throughout.