the days of the week lost their meaning when all my thoughts fell out of my mouth in a run on sentence
runnin' past punctuation, gunnin' it for confusion
the fusion of what im sayin' is leading to fussing
over why nothing i've said is rooted in facts
never ending like a train on the tracks
racing car by car to the back of your memory
drowning out the world in the clickity clack
of typed words racing through my mind
it's all a blur, I never know the answer
i've never been less sure of the cure for the pain my mind is trying to endure but it's
magnificent, its magic that a mechanical miracle could ebb and flow with ease
this train of thoughts and words keeps growing like endless leaves on a tree
the willow branches that reach to the ground, sending a sense of peace all around as its growing in complexity
but now its on to the next thing, racing down the hillside
banging around, its the most brilliant tease
because even with all this racket and screeching
I'm still finding hope in hiding behind my thoughts
like we fade out our photos
blurring our noses and imperfections to make those click that heart
light it up in red, **** our senses are talking to the dead
im trying to remember, how to slow the world
that speeds by my windows
im seeing the world, forget it, its nonsense
my days move slow but my thoughts are racing
fighting for the gold medal, its pure insanity
running isn't an option when reality is chasing you, on your heels
if it catches me this might all go to hell
because if you could see, if you could see the insecurity,
if you could see the immorality
if you could see the pain and strife and the wanting for life
if you could find everything that would bleed out with a knife
that I hold inside
i'd find my hands tied at the small of my back
and I'd giggle in a half mad insanity, half ticklish agony
forcing my head forward
id be seen walking at a slow pace of defeat
because if reality catches me, im waging a war with skills of persuasion
that im not insane, but a deep thinker or something
but I never believed in fighting violence with violence
because I don't fight for things that have a lack of meaning
so I fight for space on a page to display what I have to say
im waiting to publish insanity for the readily accepted public
because if my work dates dollar signs then I wont be racking up fines
for stepping out of the common lines drawn between
between
between being successful and being the next successor of that kingdom
like everything the light touches belongs to you
but in a room of clouds, nothing lives in the now
you're faced to paint your past like a masterpiece of aging
paintings look real in natural light and in my room
the light is artificial like my reign over my mind
because my thoughts rule me, they're riding my actions like a slave master
hollering and shouting bouts of anxiety with every step
misstep
I digress, follow the light, green glow for go
the exit sign from this useless masterpiece of a rhyme
compressing the door to greet the increasing degrees
of positivity and flirting
with every step, in every fit
i think today, I'm going to finally get it