Pure existence breeds contempt like the Persecution of my King or that Book without chapters and numbers. And so Passive Resistance leaves Comrades discontent about the execution of being ‘you’ without ‘Chambers and Partners’. Grew apart with a friend, next time was like seeing an alien ship, left a blind spot open for desperation, friend or foe? And got stabbed in the back…Fooled into thinking it was companionship, didn’t watch my spot in anticipation and so the “Rand” he chose and got the money in the bank. Yearning for a shoulder to cry on or perhaps a sighing door…and yet year in and out, getting older in these Love Crimes lying coz’ of colder trying times, fix those Goodbye threats or that’s her signing off. Mental toil stifling like a treadmill on quicksand, what could it be but Debts. Metal and Oil, at least she’s still shuffling and not threatening…Must make a quick plan to bridge the gaps. Not to mention the Bigotry at work from a brother did I Mention? Just so he can grow a ‘Bigger Tree’ out of work from the Brothers, can you imagine? Unconscious stress suppression is make belief survival. Atrocious acts of violence surprise us, as we take this Life beneath what’s vital. A new hate is surfacing with deceiving smiles from Siblings, and now it’s too late for circling coz’ of this believing while we fall for the sinning. Blood spilled spots like, why couldn’t I put the dots together? But **** Spots are blueprints; it’s hard to put the plot together. Tried to rail your train of thoughts to the perils around my Mother’s condition, but somehow it evaded your vein of thought and now the devil’s around your Karma position.
These Scars are cracks to a revelation you’re not ready for, but your transgressions…
You marred bad on a ***** facing many odds bra…I swear to the Ancestors!!

I guess I'm just not the type of girl you'd write pretty love songs about.
It's much easier to write about how I'm a strong wind of fabricated concern in your mind,
rather than your golden girl.
How I enchant everyone but you.
How I must do it on purpose,
Because I love the attention.
I love the applause.
I love the lust and your love lost.
But if you read just one chapter of my own book of songs,
You'd see crayon writing that led to you all along,
outlining your salmon voice,
and your coffee eyes,
the kissing of your peachy skin,
my feelings you compromised.
But you needn't sneak to see,
I wish to be a silver spirit
that lives in your sight alone.
I worship you when I'm not on defense.
When you're not on the fence,
Walking tightrope, with me in your right palm,
while desires, goals and worries, doubts and fears,
and your book of scarlet nightmares are all in your left.
Teeter off and lose your footing.
You know I'll hit the ground first.
Soften the fall for you and your words.
Write on free faller.
Let's call it all off.
You pretend to be grey and modest.
You must do it on purpose,
because you know
I hate losing your attention,
I hate your forgotten applause,
I hate my lust for you
and here, your love is lost.
But even now that my stare is fixed
on you and your book
You still won't turn to look
because you don't believe in me
and you don't believe in ghosts.

It's hard knowing
you're not in the right location
when everyone ahead of you
is doing so much better than you are,
and when you try to follow them
you get lost in throngs of people
who are
just
like
you.

You become plastered to the stereotype
like the same boring wallpaper
in the same mundane house;
the kind that someone wants to cover
with accomplishments because it's too ugly
to deserve even a quick gander.
And that's alright with you
because it's just how you feel: ugly.

You become melancholy at the thought
that every word you try to spread on that
revolting wallpaper in an attempt to make it beautiful,
before someone else tries to do the same,
just keeps being buried under yet another outstanding triumph
from someone who isn't you.

It's beyond difficult to understand
you aren't in the right position
to become the dream you made up inside your head
as you step over boundaries that are faded
in hopes you can immediately be where you desire
and require
when the design has a necessity for time
and careful planning.

And all you want is to find your escape
because the stress that continues to bear down on you
is pulling at your center as well.
You've no idea where your home is,
but it certainly isn't in the arms
of the mattress you claim solace in every night.

They claim that home is where the heart is,
but your heart isn't with you.
It's living luxury somewhere else.
It's every
single
day
you hear yourseld murmuring
'there's no place like home'
But you don't receive that free trip by clicking your heals.
You don't find your way home
by following that rabbit down a hole.
Can you find where you belong?
Or will you be lost forever in this Wonderland like me and everyone else?

The days that i am happy
are few and far between
no, im not depressed
I'm just a statistically sad teen
i wake up in the morning
regret running through my veins
and then i go to bed
with the same amount of pain