Individual perception creates alternate realities. Infinite views.
Some shared among many,
Some among few,
Some are created and confined within one.
Objectively, everything is real.
Because nothing is real.

Selfish is the artist,
Secluded by his hand.
His world could fall around him,
He wouldn't give a ****.
In fact, you might just catch a grin above his chin from all the material given to him.
This sort of pride doesn't last long,
It never does.
There is too much pain in his heart for that,
Don't doubt it.

Why trick me?
You're smarter than that,
You know lies are transparent.
I know what you're doing, I allow it to happen.
But I sit back and write this,
Rather than push you.
Because I'd like for this not to be my responsibility.
I'd like to avoid being the one to break you.

I wish to see what I once saw.
To spectate a simple moment that has long passed.
Memories fade, they say,
Fade away from your mind to make room for what's ahead.
But I don't believe that,
I know they are there.
Tucked away deep waiting for the proper time to resurface.
Who is it that decides when these things should be recalled?

The gurgling sound of drowning can be heard all around my cozy little canoe.
For myself, I must ignore the choking.
Nothing good will come of my diving into the flood to find you.
I will bot abandon my boat for a floating carcass,
It is my only way through the gates of this watery hell.

Currents, carry my craft to a dry world.
Show me to a place where I can finally stand.
I need a new beginning,
I need a method of recovery for my waterlogged heart.

If I could take you with me, I would.
But you stubbornly wait for Savior to drain our home while I build a boat.
Patience only pays off when there is effort behind it.
Someone forgive me for being the only one who knows that.
I only wish for the screaming to cease till I make it,
I don't want that to be my final memory of you.

Who gave you the key to my cage?
I've embraced my death, like its love or compassion.
Four blank walls, suppressin my guessin.
Born into this, pulled out of it, now where do I go from here?
Colors fade.
Ideas change.
Defamation of the martyrs stage.

Never agreed to be freed.
Rusted metals attached to me.
I'm forced to drag it around,
Until the limb gives out.
To learn to live is what im limping toward.
But where do I begin?
Colors change.
Ideas fade.
Evolution of the modern age.

Too few ears perk up to hear words spoken by pure silence.
Secrets spread out on the surface.
Foot level in darkness.
Remove your hand from the light switch.
Explore the floor
The way
The door.
Mangling your knees to find some more.
There's always more
There will be more.
Leave your limbs where they lay
Continue clawing at your core.

Drop a nickel on the floor,
What'd you hear?
I heard so much ******* more,
You're a deaf, numb bore
You deaf, numb bore

Throughout this expedition to my peak, the most hindering obstacle has always been the wind of another's breath.
It takes only a sensitive receptor to see the top of the mountain.
That seems to be enough, until you first slip.
I must maintain a certain numbness about me to make it, or a way to cut between and slip through.
I do not yet know how to go about this, but I can no longer stand in one place,
Lest this all disappear.

My stomach is uneasy from the **** I was fed for breakfast.
You saw that I was disoriented,
Its why you chose to strike.
Though you foresaw that I wouldn't break,
I cant help but hate the hand I was dealt.

I will continue to choke down what you've prepared for me, O Master Chef.

       Eat and grow strong,
                          young one.
                  You've a ways to go.

I am being lifted,
Picked up to be cast down.
I don't know that I can handle such height,
The Light is overwhelmingly whole.
I was unaware of how effective the color black can be,
Vivid shadows are illuminated by my torch.
I am shaken by connection.
In this sense,
I am thankful for gravity.

We're drenched in the sweat of our precursors because they've walked this way long before we were thrown into the mix.
A continuous and branching path is the trek for truth.
Progressing together, we separate as we go on,
Only to meet up again at the coming together of roads,
When all knowledge is connected and implemented in an Earthly heaven.

I'm losing interest in things,
In people,
In games.

Indulgence makes stale what you once craved.

I'll use you till I lose you,
The timing is always right.
For when I've emptied the glass
I'll be scouting for the next task
To wet my mouth with meaning.

There is a fountain just for me,
When I find it I can begin my life.

As each source proves more and more limited,
I wonder if there even exists such a thing.

I am a slave to myself,
My emotions dictate my ways.
Everything external feels illusive,
Though I know its not.
My carnality nudges me, ?correcting? my thought.
I have a shell shielding from the praise of peers, but im vulnerable to my inner critic.

I am liberated,
Though still under ownership of the master class.
I am free to think, to express.

My limbs are bound to the path by regulations and expectations.
But my eye is free to wander as it pleases,
Because I've allowed myself to look beyond the road we walk on.
To the left of it,
to the right.
Tilting my head toward the sun, I see only energy in the form of flames.
A sign to me that the tiny bit of energy comprising myself is capable of being much more than what it is in this moment.
This is something I needed to know,
those walking beside me must be told.

I know nothing other than that i am,
that i must go.
Your philosophy means **** all to me.
If it can be one upped, it's obsolete.
Any thought before this moment is incomplete.
Different minds add different pieces to the puzzle.
Your certainty is not enough for me.

Presentation,
A replication emitting stability, security.
"Enlightenment" for the petty consciousness.

I need my solitude to reflect on anything and everything. To bring closure to unfinished thoughts, and keep track of changes that I've so aggressively and carelessly lunged myself into. Emotions have to be under control. Everything else falls apart if your emotions are destructive. Progression comes from passion, in both negative and positive backdrops.  YOUR world is perceived by YOUR emotions. My world is what I want it to be.

God is just a metaphor
for something we're all searching for.
Her god loves, his god fights,
your god kept me up at night. (Just like his mother Mary)
Subjective gods, subjection lies.
                        I see through his selective eyes.

I don't speak to people who say nothin at all.
Voices laced with grace, no sincerity just *****.

To me sleep is sacred
          a time where we all die.
                         I didn't feel His presence,
                                               I knew only mine.

Its only a figment of my misery,
Truth distorted and twisted to match my horrible mood.
I'm aware of the unreality behind the notion, but its weight compressess my bones,
Its too heavy for me to remain motionless.
Any act in the manner I have in mind would be self destructive,
But im willing to scar myself just to lighten the load.
Even if its only for a moment,
Believe me, I will have my rest.

The absence of wonder in your eyes and sincerity from your mouth monotonously reassures the credibility of my contempt for casual communication with characterized ?individuals?
         My own iris has been stretched by my eager to expand awareness.

         I normally pity someone like this,
But your arrogant certainty shook my shadow to consciousness.
It told me to cast you naked into the glare,
         Maybe snip your eyelids out of spite. Its fortunate for you that I am not a slave to the fury.

No constructive change would come of my martyrdom.

If the man you once were saw ahead of time where he would be today,
I know that he wouldn't have allowed this day to come.
A picture of your face would be a reminder in his mind's eye of who he could become if he were to wander away from the light.
I miss that man.
I miss the hope that came with the idea of God.
Its much the same, really.
But the effects of your failure are much more devastating than the let down I feel from the higher father.
And I can still see you with my own eyes.

I've been everywhere with your image,
Imagined experiences you'd never willingly share with me.
Its okay,
What's authentic may not be to my liking anyway.
I love the personalities I create.
To date, they've never bit the hand.

Yes, both of you keep your mouths shut.
You've developed enough hatred in me toward you.
Luckily, years of intense anger have made these moments short-winded,
Transitioning quickly into an outlet.
Yes, productivity follows
In the form of art.

Nihilisms brutal, how could you choose to live that way?
Coz everything is futile, life is glorified decay.
We're all dying, and I can't wait....

Each day simulates birth and death and everything between.
Next day is the same **** thing, how many hints did you need?
Cradle to the grave to the cradle to the grave,
Makes plenty of sense to me.