Sitting on a cloud of poisonous blackened ash
enjoying my fake heaven provided by the best
Amsterdam has to offer.
Keeping up this relentless assault on my lungs
as if I'm trying to turn them into the tar pit
I currently reside in.
A ***** desperate attempt to claw my way
through what I'm coping with.
To put a metaphor into actual reality
by comparing reality and my actions
to an actual metaphor of my reality.
Painting my innards pitch black
because I perceive my outer world
like I'm looking through a veil of darkness.
False flag operations on myself
justified by the Demons residing
in the world that I'm carrying.
In this world that I'm traveling.
Carrying my world like Atlas
but I've lost my way..
wish I could live up to the name..
Google Maps myself back to sane.
It's hypocrit
Because I thrive of this poison
and once my mind is clouded in ash..
the pressure is temporarily relieved
like when a vulcano erupts..
But deep down it's always boiling
always smoldering
blistering cold merely touching my emotions
would leave burnmarks on my hazed out psyche..
So I don't dare touch them, it hurts..
So I don't dare to sleep, I'm scared because pondering hurts..
So I don't dare dream.. because sleeping hurts..
So I remain, blazed out of this world
Disconnected and severed from myself..
Rather face this green Hell than reality itself.