Flaring inability of solid perception is eating me whole.
The boundaries of the mind continue to blur;
pressing forever's endeavors,
with each blink that I can't help.

The meaning of seeing is the same as believing,
but who has the will to consistently try?
Moments dissolve into memories over time
and even then, a thought is but itself.

Our downfall is our heresy
which wraps around and buries me.
So, here's to solidarity.
We all agree to disagree.

Such platforms merely can't conceive
us standing up as effigies,
since we'd prefer entirely
to one and all be entities.

There is a slight delay
in our speech and our ways,
the time for a choice
to make peace with disdain.

I found I was wrong.
You were right all along.
I'm a stuttering chorus.
You're a verse in a song.

18-
That was me.
I'd never heard of scrutiny,
but was sure that I knew everything.
I was the best I'd ever seen.

Then I turned 19,
I did my best to be unclean-
to make an end to all my means
by exploring everything obscene.
I made a point to ruin things.

When I was only barely 20,
I'd thought everything was funny,
but knew I had to grow up.
I knew all was cloudy and not sunny,
I was destined to **** up.

When I had just turned 21,
I had made a moon out of a sun.
I had poured the marrow from a bone.
I guess I reaped what I had sewn.

When I was still green at 22,
I didn't know just what to do.
I thought I knew how to push through,
but alcohol made me a fool.

By the time I hit 23,
It made me sick to look at me.
Mirrors saw me as practically,
as my best friends would ever see.

It went so fast- I was 24,
I knew I'd **** myself for sure.
I found my self in a whole new place-
it was Hell and much, much more.

By the time that I saw 25,
I wasn't sure I was alive.
I'd lived on so I could strive,
but I could not- at least I tried.

Now, I am almost 26.
Now, I'm hardly here
and I'm hardly ****.
It is all my fault,
that I'm amiss.

Jesus Christ is just a fix.

We could talk about this season,
about how it's cold,
about how it hurts more every year.

We could talk about my patterns,
about how they grow,
about their ****** and its punctuality.

We could talk about change,
about how it's inevitable,
about how it could save us, if only we'd let it.

We could talk,
but then again,
just pass the flask.
Let's drink, my friend.

Death is all around us;
in beauty,
in sadness
and peace.
I wish it weren't in me.

I forge tentative tendencies
disregarding the embassies
that make sense of discrepancies.
This might be the end of me.

I've had struggles with infamy;
this shame is mine, partially.
I'd intended to skirt a plea,
but that was too challenging.

Don't make me scream,
American Dream.
Just send me on my way.

You turn water to steam,
American Dream,
with your never-ending flame.

A simple man, I am.
Don't try to get confused,
don't try to understand.
I live my whole entire life
wading in the shallow end
and enjoy the total lack of strife
as solace is my dearest friend.

I am a body without plans.
Don't get confused,
you won't understand.
I am wallowing in fear again.
Don't feel abused,
just take my hand.