i don't feel as though I'm the type to make it
so I type to make it
self described as the greatest
self described overrated
self prescribed medication
self denies that exploitation
this could be the "realest **** i ever wrote"
yet its honestly nothing more than mental notes
reminders that I'm not dead yet
remind me when I'm dead, yet
come find me when my head's set
solidly on my shoulders
don't know why I'm so sick of being HERE...
my mental state's constantly all over
I'm often sought for "good advice"
often thought of "being right"
while you whisper "listen" without thinking twice
I whimper at the thought of life
misheard, disregard me in the spotlight
cuz... dawg... my soapbox full of termites..
don't wanna preach to the choir
don't wanna talk to the congregation
and I'm sure with all these blunts I'm facin
I'm bound to be famous
isn't that how it works...?
or am i..
bound to be facin
those famous cliches
we love to hate
why I'm sending love every which way?
when that love always comes back as a switchblade?
that cuts so deeply
given a forewarning, yet left in dismay, as to say
"now this may hurt..."
"but learned lessons..-"
-THEY DON'T LESSEN ****
my scars have stories but trust me, being scarred is a different story
I'm still sore where that passion burnt
lately I've been wondering if writing is rather vain work
combined with this lack of passion its got me questioning my body and whether veins work
regardless when you blowing wind; you should know my weather vane works
but most of the time
i try to find
to my observations-
"-yoooooo everyone deserves a second chance b"
but I'm simply asking
how long do your seconds last?, see
the last time I was "stuck in the moment"
I grasped on tight and tried to slow it,
but there's no escaping the fact
that things come and go
from summer sun to falling leaves and rain, then snow
listen... falling leaves a back broken..
but while lying there staring
blank into the dimly lit ceiling
snapped in half,
i realized that
the hardest part about the ego and letting go
is having to say, "sorry i was just stuck in the past.."
what kinda **** is that.....
A split-second where life should be
I put so much effort into random places,
so much effort into random faces
thoughts towards destiny
wondering whats left in me...?
messages esoteric terrorize my rhetoric
pedestrians staring glaring gazin gotta get a second look
layers shed, fall from those ancient snakes
left for dead
this sunless planet is madness
try to find sense in a broke world
what are hands without manipulation?
and in life? death is a stipulation
a fools gold is never within grasp
clasp delusions Grandiose
with a toast
to sham pain and champagne
emptied grails course through mans veins
oh to see what mirrors saw
would reflections appear at all?
peer into the endless ego
see nothing but self libido
we are all weary travelers,
existences' eternal passengers
remove masks, flasks, end the charade
let serpents slither, and sun bath
away from the shade
embrace the end of nights
push away the start of days
just keep in mind
the pendulum sways
we all flow through life like rivers
here and there, crested glimmers
atop waves once ripples
at last glance of this looking glass..?
men surely shivered
locked in depths of mind
where feral thoughts blind
the self is selectively obsessive
in heaven sent temperament
can do no wrong..
can do no wrong.
can do no wrong!
those with bias
revel in personally pious thought
a myriad of self destruction
we all flow the same way
we all ride the same wave
once a ripple from a stones throw
bound to glimmer when we all flow
void of light
dwelling in hellish mental wells
with no fight, flight or rational
acclimated to dirt ceilings/sealings,
unless stars are aligned
will be born dead before found alive
roots from life
hang over head,
just empty promises
from another dead
sit in solitude
a solemn wreck
show helping hands,
to uncover this hovel.?
no shovel will do
a sympathy symphony
wont let light shine through
from bottom rocks-once-kicked
from sticks, stones,
thoughts of home
cold dismal walls
burst forth reborn
alter the skyline
you can do anything
you put your mind to
look in the mirror
say im just tryna find you
I saw demise in her eyes
acceptance of a summarized
existence in this instance
incidentally its in stints
well baby take my hand and
we'll ride the intertwining serpentine
you feelin my energy in an instant
i know you missed this
lips reveal whats sealed from description
oh woe to words, absurd innately
oh woe to words' deceptive paintings
We owe an ode to the world, and im thinking maybe
its this moment
its this moment
in this moment I feel relative
in this moment, man, im so not relevant
what tomorrow holds, there is no tellin ya
weve only just crossed paths
yet Ive known you for millennia
deceitful daggers draped in red cloths
slash at eternal hearts carried by temporary raven claws
fall into insanity
and land in my lap of chance
no more wallowing in the mire
rhetorical kiaros at a glance
awake, shake these dreams from my hair
evaporate those inhibitions into thin air
exposed soul, open emotion to bare
tip-toeing the peripherals of Medusa's glare
convergence in a vicious cycle
vinyl in perpetual spiral, we rendezvous in eternity
convergence in a vicious cycle
vinyl in perpetual spiral, situated, stuck internally
Many moons might fall and several suns will set
but in this instance, together, we'll always be infinite
— The End —