Soaring ever higher- and still climbing,
i look down and instantaneously deciding,
i shant ever return to this crashing bore-
to never see through those eyes,
or breathe any more.

I'm nothing more than a delusionist, making you see things that don't exist.
In this imperialist nation, i'm something more than an extortionist, making my money off these
stolen and sold-souls, taken from anyone who resists, 2 birds with one stone - i collect these broken bones
and use them as collateral against these religious drones.
I am a little less than an illusionist -
my hand's being faster than some people's witts.
The cards i clutch within my mitts.
Dealing out the hands i think should exist.
Counting these cards with little trouble, i'll put out some cash and make it double

Staring out that great big window-
with a slight sight of my boring reflection,
staring up into the giant grey clouds engulfing my sunshine-my rays of life,    
Darkness creeps over the land,
submerges everything that you know
The building's turn gloomy,
the power shuts off
In the shadows i sit-the darkness is kind of familiar now.
There wasn't even a suspicion of light.
The murkiness of this ill light room was often friendly to me,
it shared secrets of other peoples night life, and how they spent it-
peeking in through the closet, he tells me-
describing all of my unfortunate neighbors
I'm lucky i befriended the darkness instead of abolishing it with-
left on bathroom lights, and those jack-o-lantern night brights
Each night he comes back
with more smudged and smeared information-
that he shares with me and only me.
When i sleep he watches over me like a guardian demon-
i wake i find no trace of him except under the bed and in that dark closet
So i decided to board-up all the windows to never see the light of day again,
in this dark temple i shall stay,
to never speak of light or even think it
In three weeks time
The darkness overwhelms me, i can hardly see the light
So i sit in my dark room
and conjure up every terrible creature i can think of-
hoping they come to life, and destroy this dark room
The darkness
feeling more and more like an addiction everyday-
Two months now-
all traces of life in me,
in this house are forgotten
The only memory i have
is that of light peering in the darkness
through the cracks in the boards-glowing,
begging to come in and fill me with brilliance,
but the darkness radiates through me-
fending off the insight and intellect.

I woke up this morning;
hesitant in which mask i should wear today;
looking at the long row of knock-off characters,
i thought maybe i should make yet another fake persona
One for the record books
One in which everyone would want to wear
To paint this mask i would use everyone's same ideas.
At this place- there are a lot of same painted masks.  
It seems everyone is taking something from someone,
Not stealing- but pilfering through the closet-full of masks
looking,
searching-
Those thieves don't know what's coming

These Monsters try to get me
not before i get myself, i lock myself in this empty room
hoping for this ***** carpet to **** me through this false foundation,
**** me up right between my sheets.
I open my eyes just before my alarm beeps,
a step ahead of the time- all the time
I can see you back there two steps behind,
laggin behind the seconds- just like the big hand on the clock.
Like im moving ahead of everyone else-head of the curve,
as the Doctors like to call it-as im trying to explain my increasing condition.
Son this is straight ludic-ration, It might be a part of your toonish-addiction.
Boilin' up this sketches and pencils, Bottlin' these un-inked rations.
I could use these another day i think to myself conspicuously,
wondering if anybody overheard my thoughts
writing down my exact words-
to someday use them against me in this trial,
with the judge,
jury im pleading against denial
Sittin' there with my crooked grin, my vanishing eyes, and my grittin teeth.
The judge has it out for me i can tell,
by the way he made me stand up and sit down,
i cant take much more of this questioning-
My mind wandering loosely now, maybe its what they wanted
tryin to get all my thoughts, those greedy *******;
My ideas, my brainchild's- there all worthless they'll see.
Nothing but a conspiracy against me,
But what they really dont know-there's a bomb under my seat.

like clock work i pace this spinning ground,
summoning up these imaginary fallacies-
figuring out this forever changing world,
as i spin round and round-
clock wise, i think i've got it
counter that thought- i think i've lost it,
losing all grip on life-reality,
irresponsibly wandering through this lost life,
searching for meaning in these sandwich bags,
filled to the seal, with these evil prescriptions-
relax, everything is copacetic
i whisper into the empty bag;
in complete agreement with my two sides,
unanimously deciding against all odds-
to end this unrealistic dependency;
reliance on this rare but prominent object,
would be a complete and utter disaster;
among both sides they would bicker,
until they recreate that clock in my head;
spinning out of self control
i will patrol this empty room.