Resisting arrest by the things I detest.
I've relinquished control of my mind's steady pulse to some of the best
People I know,
Yet, still I must quest to repay all that I owe
To myself.
Not to put on display in a sideshow, but to let go
To the wayside what prevents growth in the daylight.
At night I  float through the bay side as a ghost manifested from an ad-hominem homicide who no longer harbors the lies inside.
Not by choice, but because the transparency of his hyde forces everything off his chest.
That's Hyde with a Y, in case you didn't catch.
A way to separate the enemy from whom I can trust will continue to ride on straight with his eyes on the prize,
Because even though most of the time while I'm speeding on by I can realize when I'm fooling myself,
Sometimes it still helps to have another set of eyes I can confide in when I fall to my pride, and welp, honestly, I'm really good at lying.
All snideness aside,
I constantly subside the urge to spin so many stories like I used to.
I abide to unifying the narrative and the truth.

  The book is written by my steps, traced in ink.
It revolves around the fearlessness experienced amidst the dereliction of my inhibitions.
Inhabiting this world is sooo much stranger than fiction.
I was served red herring on a silver platter so often that I could no longer ******* own predictions on the matter.
The predication of my subject crashed to the floor and shattered with a clatter,
All the while the next course was being served over the chatter.
The false leads left me feeling salty;
Depleting my energy, sinking into a state of emergency with a deficiency of Vitamin C.
Scurvy, you see?
A line graph charting mental health as curvy as the sea.

  Digressing from this literary diversion I will return to the exploitation of the exposition of this version of the story with positively depressing times formed in the retrospection of faded moments of glory,
During which I was jaded by the very idea of my lovers' life stories.
I tried to write and I tried to paint,
But the page and the canvas weren't blank so I was left with a jumbled mess of mistakes that acted as constraints to my best traits.
The epiphany that would have solved the last case always showing up a minute too late.

I've learned to live in the present tense and take each clue as it comes
and sharpen my sense of intuition instead of letting my paranoia blossom into fruition every time my expectation doesn't fall in line.
I'm here now within the sublime.
I'll Be Here Now Ram Daas, all of the time.
Life is strange, and that's no crime.
I'm strange too, and that's just fine.