Words are frauds
You, me, they, them all we
Lost under the same tree.

I never existed. You know, I never did.
It was all an elaborate illusion.
I have been told to play. No, I had no intention of robbing you of your emotions or perception. I just wanted to find myself.
I realised this so-called universe couldn’t provide me with meaning or perhaps it had none to offer, so I made up characters for every one of them I met, and yet I failed miserably to know myself. Fear of not understanding myself consumed me into nothingness.
 
“I'm tied to the rocking chair.
I don't need to be ******* cared for.
They said my dumb stars weren't aligned. Even those Scripted Zodiac stones won't get it right.”
 
Every time someone came along, I put up a new character, a charade to please their needs in the hope of finding myself, but I never did every single time I couldn't understand why
What lines did I miss or the script didn't work?
series of phobias bombarded my surroundings, making me speak gibberish.

My half-baked memories aren’t mine; different personas tangled within one, saying love isn't our thing, hate, jealousy, why do you need such things?
Emotions are a burden, a limitation on brains.
For centuries, nut-sized cytomegaloviruses have argued over fictitious beings.
I don't find sense in these trivial things.

©sarcasticbong
 
Either I can go to sleep or I accept myself as part of this illusion.

The universe makes random jokes 
Like, to know me is a curse 
My personalities make it worse.

The introvert in me is ugly painted with gloomy clouds, stalking demons in the alley loves to mourn as a firstborn sick With numb eyes flick,
tears don't exist anymore.

The extrovert in me is silly painted with colours people never been seen, his smile is flawless and always wander around clueless about why he smiles.

The **** in me is a song or people like to call it wrong, a yearlong gong he writes 'lol' in people's wall with a fluffy cloud inside his brain, 
it reads tetrahydrocannabinol, 
notorious for his vocabulary,
can **** with an epistolary.

The Dib is a broken rib, spoon-feed bib 
He writes out of syllabus with sketchy nib,
runs in a solo trip his life says 'rofl'.

©sarcasticbong

I carried dead bodies inside my head,
Walking through the narrow thoughts people look confused at the attire of truth,
Flesh covered with white odours numbness trying to sneak around
Mournful cries cried aloud in a loop
The question was asked, lost into imagination and never answered. 

'Clutched river banks, fire no thanks'.
Tykes barking live nine trying to save Hat of hierarchy, fueling the odds so-called frauds.

Days are counted by numb bodies fleet 
Should I laugh or cry like the undead realm.
'I am not a manic don't be panic, you must be galvanic, a thought bad bot'.

These after images crashes lashes eyes popped flashes, do you mind looking around what you see?

This is what I do stitch pain with blood smudged hands, and smile like it's a good day.

©sarcasticbong

Recipe for making a ****
"The God of Unknown"

Ingredients:
× Half a dozen of personalities 
× A spoonful of Unknown questions 
× 2/3 of darkness from Svalbard
× A Jar full of pain from the rain
× A whole book of poetries called Unlove
× Freshly hand-picked Metaphors
× A pinch of verses dipped in curses 

Even before starting the recipe, it could intoxicate you, to be safe until the end be patience and forget you have a heart to love.

Procedure:

Heat the cast iron pan on high flames,
Pour the pain boil it until you see bubbles,
then drop one by one all the personalities stir it well on low flames,
an ebullient aroma will start to fill the room
Now add a spoonful of Unknown questions, Questions that have souls attached to them be careful they might jump over you.
Now take the book cut through the pages,
book of poetries in a zig-zag pattern,
like the wrist of a lover who wrote poetries to hate her but couldn't Unlove her,
Now turn the flames to high and add 2/3 of the darkness from Svalbard an Ingredient that keeps the balance of the entity, stir until everything has been mixed well
Take a pinch of verses dipped in curses toss the pan and sprinkle the magic portion, an Ingredient that makes ripple in the timeline of every multiverse to relive the moments,
Finally, Garnish with freshly hand-picked Metaphors only for the ones persistence for the worthiness.

Eureka 
Your, **** has been created.

©sarcasticbong

Dennis the Menace
Turning light, burning berries
Sharing stories of the fairies
Calling its lore,
did you found them on
the fallen shore.
No, they were written on papyrus
By the centuries-old Cytomegalovirus.
Crack-heads smoking ***, vivid imaginations are they moral compass.

Bang! Skip to the future
Reaper deeper leader neither speaker
Vocal sounds like a viper
My words **** like a ******
Hideaway from the truth
Put on your shady glasses of confute.
©SARCASTICBONG

Flying with death
Keeping all the faith
We pass by Andromeda
Mysteries around us
Parallel time running behind us

I asked, what was life?
Was it about just living?
Was it about keep walking to the end ?
Was it all a lie?
Or it was just a stupid simulation?

'were you religious'?
I believed in me
Never bad mouth about others
May have hurt some people
Without my knowledge
I regret that, but I was human right?
We make mistake, it's a process to learn.

I asked again, what was life?
'wake up, I'm leaving you with time'.
It was just a dream, there is no after life
Ask for forgiveness, help other
Love unconditional
Be that life.

©sarcasticbong