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Take time to know yourself Find out about your life Sit in the den and stay silent Quiet. You do not know Who I am. I am a Prophet he would say And you’re mine I'm all yours But not whenever you want me I'd reply Taking dark selfies in a temple Creepy rituals with the cult of the Tempili Orientis Studying Bible names His social script became mine When I felt like I was losing my mind a scripture That repeats itself in mystic fables Façades of King Solomon persecuted by his existence The script: I take orders from pastors, aliens, angels, bible thumpers, avengers, excuses from sickness, while he spoke of the devil, talking for hours about ************ to thelema, bouts of depression He was nowhere to be found. Behind closed screen doors and phone calls gone raw The Elimination of Alive Took over Spoke of necrophilia Casting spells by saying ‘that's hot’ “I miss you” but only ever saw me 1x3 To risk my need and call it yours When you’re out $125, starving for a hit, no love or affection, beaten to a pulp, and emotionally marred ‘It’s hard to heal’ When his real fam goes by A man named Sam He would go with him everywhere A false son Playing the part A spitting image of the dark Left in a pool of hypocrisy This was nowhere. Off the grid Forever lost inside a universe that fails so many. Not everything can be saved. He was born into modern day slavery An absent mother and father Trying so hard to make it Money is all he wanted to make And lost it with his words Addiction Tunnel vision The drug is the delusion that craves and prayers Can’t afford And yet how peculiar that I looked at everybody like they have 3 eyes blind Feeling like I wanted to leave my body sometimes... The lost souls out there That got suckled in She must know he said. His script continued: I am already gone I had love somewhere   but impossible to keep I'm so expired You're a clown I told her But when I look in the mirror All I see is the loneliness of a dead man buying and selling a dream that can only be found In a man who is not me. Begging for bread The last drop of pink moscato burns the roof of my mouth Hot chocolate Ice cold And my emotions Buried in mould for over a decade I’m Schizotypal When I speak to her I say I miss her but these suicidal thoughts of death still tempt me That's why I need Angels to protect me Projecting who I believe I am A rich one Flaming A Rosicrucian Cross on my chest Throbbing panting for salvation “I am in the middle of nowhere losing everything that could have ever made me”.   He was other people. And that is it’s own Hell
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Dec 24, 2020
Dec 24, 2020 at 8:15 PM UTC
lanna-evolved
The Script of Temple Talk
Take time to know yourself Find out about your life Sit in the den and stay silent Quiet. You do not know Who I am. I am a Prophet he would say And you’re mine I'm all yours But not whenever you want me I'd reply Taking dark selfies in a temple Creepy rituals with the cult of the Tempili Orientis Studying Bible names His social script became mine When I felt like I was losing my mind a scripture That repeats itself in mystic fables Façades of King Solomon persecuted by his existence The script: I take orders from pastors, aliens, angels, bible thumpers, avengers, excuses from sickness, while he spoke of the devil, talking for hours about ************ to thelema, bouts of depression He was nowhere to be found. Behind closed screen doors and phone calls gone raw The Elimination of Alive Took over Spoke of necrophilia Casting spells by saying ‘that's hot’ “I miss you” but only ever saw me 1x3 To risk my need and call it yours When you’re out $125, starving for a hit, no love or affection, beaten to a pulp, and emotionally marred ‘It’s hard to heal’ When his real fam goes by A man named Sam He would go with him everywhere A false son Playing the part A spitting image of the dark Left in a pool of hypocrisy This was nowhere. Off the grid Forever lost inside a universe that fails so many. Not everything can be saved. He was born into modern day slavery An absent mother and father Trying so hard to make it Money is all he wanted to make And lost it with his words Addiction Tunnel vision The drug is the delusion that craves and prayers Can’t afford And yet how peculiar that I looked at everybody like they have 3 eyes blind Feeling like I wanted to leave my body sometimes... The lost souls out there That got suckled in She must know he said. His script continued: I am already gone I had love somewhere   but impossible to keep I'm so expired You're a clown I told her But when I look in the mirror All I see is the loneliness of a dead man buying and selling a dream that can only be found In a man who is not me. Begging for bread The last drop of pink moscato burns the roof of my mouth Hot chocolate Ice cold And my emotions Buried in mould for over a decade I’m Schizotypal When I speak to her I say I miss her but these suicidal thoughts of death still tempt me That's why I need Angels to protect me Projecting who I believe I am A rich one Flaming A Rosicrucian Cross on my chest Throbbing panting for salvation “I am in the middle of nowhere losing everything that could have ever made me”.   He was other people. And that is it’s own Hell
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