I make myself so happy for no reason then stick my own back,
melancholic acts of treason, cut and measure my own lesions;
a line between pleasure and pleasing.
Not an pessimist nor a type of optimist but a realist who has mastered the execution of delusion and illusion.
Oxymoronic, Guess I'm just human;

Apparently the semblance of a god,
so making something from nothing isn't odd,
but I was given everything from a soul to my bones, hair to my toes;
Even to me who stays in this, sinew and ivory, home the reason is unknown but I know the weight of this form has its toll.

Ties made are rarly cut
more than the material is used,
bonds spirt imbued,
that which feeds hate and love.
My soul is the ocean my form the soil my mind the heavens so it's wisdom guides the toil.
What I put on to my body will seep to the sea, be it poisons or ointments that is to be seen, my wish for foresight seems obscene,
a noxious tint colors the scene
Ah this is but a show, how else can I explain the tragedies sown.

Who wrote this play?
No
Who paid its commission,
who conscripted us to suffer, no need for permission, no fine print played off as a simple omission?
Actors with no access to backstage
so it is do or die,
freedom in a cage,
the 4th wall blocks our eyes.
we get no reactions for our performance
no real feedback,
so we face our troupe like opponents, for no real reason.
Whilst some seem to flourish in a limelight others perish in darkness
some disappear through trap doors others fly with out harness.

seasoned thespians sometimes show us a way; how to perform our parts, from when they entered the play.
We are told there is a script, so I would say some have forgotten thier lines
but honestly the script has never passed these eyes,
all I know is that somes voices are drowned out by the soundtracks of anxiety and sadness;
The polyrhythms of fear and deafening sound of loneliness and madness
How could the director have this?

That's the purpose of a tragedy; make the watcher feel like they are living lavishly.

Wanted a reason why I find it so tragic.

In the words of Life 'There, you have it.'

luck
I'm running out
starstruck
in this point in time
Being walked over
Talked over
I am not a mime
Lady luck, make me a route
Out of this pit, help me climb

I'm stuck in my head
Can't get out of bed
You leave me on read
You don't care what I said

I can't feel love
Not even heaven above
Your hearts I will shove
I'm someone to dispose of

It's all good and well
My hopes have all fell
My soul I will sell
I'm going to hell

I know not the meaning in a day,
nor the lingering summers ray,
oh!-how its warmth and glint decay,
upon that deep and lonely blue bay!

I know not the meaning in a night,
nor the winter moon above in flight,
too soon will it wane from my sight,
beyond that cold dark mountain height!

I know not the meaning in death,
to live!-to love!-and lie beneath,
that wind tattered autumns heath,
I fear!-my hearts last shallow beat!

They want me to come to them,
they miss me they say,
they’ll take care of me they say.
These ghosts try to bribe me with empty promises and voided checks.
An illusion of happiness and peace
if i only give up the life i’m currently living
and return to God
They have no idea how ive changed.
How clearly i can see now.
Lady justice might be blind
but i dont have to be,
impartial justice doesnt exist with ghosts, never has and it never will.
These ghosts no longer talk to me,
i’ve strayed to far off the narrow road. Shunned for wanting to live a life that is my own,
for wanting to love someone who is apart of the world.
For so many things that i have done
and that i continue to do
and none of them are even evil!
Not to the living at least.
The memories of the years i devoted haunt me.
I had tried so hard,
so very very hard to prove my worth.
To show them i could be a loyal follower of christ as well,
the ghosts didnt care,
it didnt matter how much i was struggling,
how close to the edge i was,
the traumas ive been through.
I didnt pray enough,
i didnt throw my burden solely upon god,
i didnt go out and preach the word of god enough
Instead i had turned to the world for help,
i had turned towards people who’s job was to help me not want to die,
to help me work through my problems.
I had turned my back on the ghosts.
And every-time i had tried to return to them
they only made it harder for me to get into paradise.
And after all they had done,
after being labeled a deserter
and being shunned,
i still miss them.
I sometimes still wish i could go back
Making the choice to leave the organization easy.
Not returning to God is the hard part.

it was too early to let go,
but was the sky—a hodgepodge of red, orange, and blue—
weeping for our permanent parting?
we were drowned in a swathe of starlight black
as if the moonlight cloaked us with invisible fabric?
we were there, i knew, but even my loudest shouts
was no match for your indifference.
our eyes, untrammeled even by the tempestuous winds,
gazing like rapiers through skin,
only vacillated by my innermost deluge.

in the nightfall, i see you outshining the sun,
but what am i then, a rock, a moon in the morning sky?
your gaze, resolute and unfaltering,
like a soldier facing a barrage of mercenaries.
i reach for you in my haze of thoughts,
only to be impeded by my wistful diffidence.
the mere thought of you electrify me—
a robot begging for every inch of shock.
you are my ardor through which my soul is replete,
a sharp pang as i wake up from my nocturnal reverie.

i am a monolith weathered by the voyage of time,
and in my days, crumble into specks of dust.
i'll get to you soon, however far it may be—
the earth, the sun—just as you breathe me in,
and only then will i truly leave.