Facts are Poison-
There is nothing as poisonous as ash dead, cold-hearted
facts. When the first Pedantic was brought into the world,
he took with him his axe and his facts, and axed
anything that conspired against him, for he idolized
the rigors of science and wished to emulate scientific method
, so that he may properly pollute the minds of artists by reassuring them
they are constantly misguided- literature is meant to be abstract
and remote. Therefore, it is necessary for the Pedantic to interpret literature. He set artists to be bound in chains and set them to
mine mountains of literature. His purpose is to cannibalize art to shreds, **** the aspirations of artists, so that they may never reach the heights of their own magnificence.

I feel it all building up inside of me
Having nowhere to let it out because where would it be safe?
Even if I could I wonder if I'd even be able to find the words
Perhaps all I could say was nothing at all
Maybe silence is all there is to say

Sensation, intuition, feeling, and thinking,
Is wrapped inside a ball,
A small pink ball inside our head,
That won't stop till we're dead,

Analytical bedrock inside oozing theories,
Elemental atoms sizzling logic,
The imaginative stranger,
One abstracted and eccentric,

Walking with shadows,
Talking and mocking,
Through these theories inside us,
Tilting our caps ‘til we’re shaking our heads,

Pensive love in storming analysis,
Sapiosexually excited, piqued interest,
Unemotional and thoughtfully attuned,
Absently minded, always condoned,

Unconventional and impartially stringed,
Weirdly wired in auxiliary functions,
Misconstrued and misunderstood,
An ****** intelligence bleeding paranoia,

Knocking unto me,
Into you, inside us all,
It’s something we all yearn to be,
And when you fail and prevail we laugh,

Crickling crickets thinking nothing,
Washing down the storm drain,
With no thoughts fluidly sliding down my throat,
Pop goes no questions into absolute concise words like freshly broken glass,

Again shadows await, but different shadows,
Blinking at me staring at you,
Wondering what’s what, inside this dementia made sense of a lovely afternoon,
Inside your sane, autocorrected, predetermined, twitching, little…mind.

Inspired by Myers Briggs Personality Test
Tyler is INTP... Logician  (Introverted INtuitive Thinking Perception)
The drifter, dreamer the absent minded professor!
SassyJ is INTJ... Architect  (Introverted INtuitive Thinking Judging)
The starry-eyed idealist manoeuvring life as if a giant chess board!

What Myer Briggs personality type are you?... See link below
It would be great to know.Please comment!!
http://www.16personalities.com/intp-personality

My mother stole the stars when I was young.
She dug them graves and built them tombs of stone
and dark replaced the light where they had hung.
The moon lamented in the sky alone.
Buried alive, the stars began to sing.
They sang me lullabies so I would dream
of when the sky was bright and burning,
when Earth was lit by constellation’s gleam.
I heard the stars and dreamed to set them free.
I longed to see them ease the lonely moon
and light the night with fire to paint the sea.
Yet they remain buried in dark and gloom;
for I was young and slept the night away.
I didn’t know dreams died with rise of day.

I keep you warm within a delicate memory
-a Victorian lace cobweb
safe from all contenders to love
in the attic where no one searches
where beauty resides in an old box of photographs
and a childhood was a distant Sun shining.