When you think you can
See through these illusions
But you only hear
Your own perspective
You are still just the same
Mainstream mundane
Monotonous
Meaningless pain
In the ***
That you've always been
As fast as a fault-line
You break down into fits of meanness
And attack packages and canvases
Art is your nemesis
And you are left alone in your pain
Fancy a walk in the dark
Through tree-lined streets
Where winter leaves it's mark
On every single fallen leaf
We are frightened of the emptiness
Messing with our souls
It often seems to me
The more people play games
The more they remain
The same similar creeps