I own myself...you tell me the rules, show me your imaginary lines in the sand....and try to dictate what I do and think....but I deny social slavery and I will always be the antagonist....I will always be to you, "The Unreasonable Man"....

.Why wouldn't I just do/believe "it" just in case it's true? Why would I do "that" to my body? Why not just blindly follow tradition, don't rock the boat, just pretend to agree....what's the harm?

I guess It's just warped.
It's all twisted around.

Pristine genesis corrupted thoroughly before it's own conception, prenatal chains and subliminal reception.

It's head is on backwards so it knows only then and now, now and then, like right now.

Feet and feat move it forward with eyes and mouth eternally cast down.

Sometimes It dreams it was free.

Sometimes it remembers it's me.

Someday is a comet I chase across time;
A mass of ice cold potential, trailing hazy tails of today behind.

I watch as it burns up shedding hope like it's sick;
Oh well, **** it...
At least I have a big ****.

Memories of pain, you're screaming again, you're going insane.

Dark thoughts are sometimes called nightmares when your eyes are closed.
and eventually your eyes open and you remember memories
and you call them thoughts but they swarm and sting like a cloud of wasps
and you remember their eyes and you remember to forget before your eyes refuse to close again.

No sleep means dark thoughts become elaborate plots for white sheep
and bread trails become dead tales as you climb off the cross while muttering "me, me, me!"

So you shake the glass from your entrails
and lick the blood from your hang nails
and suddenly nothing ******* rhymes and you realize you don't care
and the little booklet that tells you how to play the game gets wet
and you can't even read it.

and finally you have nothing.
and nothing makes sense.

And now you can sleep, but the dark creeps close and fills your nose, breaks your bones, and milks your moans.

Memories of pain, you're screaming again, you're going insane.

It's painful At first,
when reality hammers.

Sometimes I feel real,
then real feeling shatters.

I sift my peace from the pieces.

I'm Matter and nothing.

I'm nothing that matters.

I will be thinking of her…every Fourth of July.
The fireworks are no longer just for my eyes, no longer baubles just tossed in the sky!
Now I’ll hear the BOOM as they blossom apart, but what I’ll feel is Her bloom, deep in my heart.
The concussions will be her embrace, and the fireballs her crown.
And to her memory, in celebration of her life, I’ll gather my family around.
I will forgive, I will forget and I will remember to love unconditionally.
For Dahlia I’ll try!
I will be thinking of her…every Fourth of July.

A song I remember says it well; nothing is real but pain. Go ahead, roll your eyes, turn your head, or ***** your shallow words upon my feet. Pretend you don't hear the echo of my empty heart and I'll nod like I believe you care that
I'm
falling
apart.
Don't look now, there's nothing left to see, when you walked away,
I ceased to be.

The cell I live in is my mind, where I reside, the place I hide.

For when the past comes here to stay, I fold away, I hide inside.

This cell is dank, it’s walls sweat blood, it’s ceiling crushes from above.

The floor is wet, the stench is sweat, this place is lacking warmth, and love.

I built this place with my own hand, the reason for to lock away,

The light of day.

Suddenly, I was never alone.

My hope, my love, my reason to breath,

Incarnate.