There were deep pools of swirling grey,
Running along the borderline,
The child brought along his reel and soul,
He proceeded to set on the bank of,
One of the deepest pools,
And began to pray,
He started to remember all the mistakes,
They filled his lungs with self-loathing,
He wondered what his point was,
It filled his brain with worry,
He thought of his name,
It was like a cruel joke,
He remembered what he looked like on the outside,
It made his stomach churn,
He started to meditate to alleviate,
It made his heart beat slow,
A ring clamp had been binding it,
With concentration,
Silver electric flames rose up around the ring,
Turned it into a halo,
He forgot about the world and others,
He misplaced his own ego in the matter,
He even forgot that he was fishing,
And that was when he had a bite.

Lotus position in the blue light,
I've said every third thing I've had to say,
I'm in a Fritz the Cat mood,
Way in over my head?
I saw 2D illusions wrapped up in the stars,
They made sense in their motion,
Set to some Carnival Beat from the past,
It almost seems as if the papers could fly at any,
SECOND!
Sort of a kamikaze mission from within,
Taken for granted at times but whistling through,
All that rustling in the bushes isn't something,
To fear or make instant enemies with,
Tried and true make up the essence of outside,
Calling from beyond the blue electric light,
O what a shame to have happen to you,
O benevolent one who's fingers search,
O the few that make it all happen,
O to the continuounce of it all,
To circle in closer and closer without pause,
Granulated and thirsty basking in wait,
For that feminine angel to whasp down,
O a thing of immense beauty,
O in multi-armed manifestations of such,
O with chest beating and caving in,
O to glorious realization that,
Something is real besides themselves

Why is it that I cry,
Why O why must our children die,
Later when I walk around with a smile,
I wonder,
Why O Why must I lie.

Somewhere along the line the illusion will lift off of you two as well,
This is not a hate poem,
Although it is real in its dictum,
There's no ill will directed,
It could be just careful denial,
Seen as death and pain incarnate,
Really it was a good day,
And it is the truth I say,
This is not a hate song,
but **** em,
Hearing your circular coughs,
Like being force fed garbage,
Maybe this is a plea,
For an escape plan,
Perhaps a want of new beginnings,
I'll stay as long as,
It takes to see you two crash and burn,
You two make it so easy,
To lose track of my place,
Like an endless vertigo,
I felt creep up over my sockets,
Fog is clear and now all I have to say is,
**** THEM,
Everything points to something,
I'm happy mine's pointing away,
We all hold a gun my "friend,"
And yours are pointing at each other,
It is just a clause to a want,
saying so is something entirely different,
Because I work and slave to shape this,
While the two of you sit back and,
Exploit what it meas in a devilish laugh.

Today I was born again,
To live in somebodies head,
I lived the way he would for a day,
But no more...
I'm out of spirit and I'm out of head,
Nothing short of a miracle,
I'm thankful for every breath I take,
Unlike the others,
I've died and come alive,
Encapsulated in the jar,
In that soulful sound,
Protruded in the absolute,
Thirst for knowledge.

The addict is just a fool with misguided desires,
I'm just a cog in the unheard unified mechanism.

Welcome back to the rust bucket,
Welcome back to the **** bucket.

How incredibly suave Mr. Rivall
Those are the words of the woman
Made love to and fascinated with the writer,
She'll cause something to stir in me,
Vast and quiet scapes in my mind,
All pretenses are lost,
While I lay my being on hers.

Well I hate to say it but I like it,
Just a whisp of wind through the bushes,
It comes and goes,
But one thing stays the same,
In my quiet ****** world,

I'd hate to be famous and stand out,
It means I was the loudest,
I'd rather live without attention,
Not in shadow but at my own volume,

See why O why would I want to peek out,
In the lowest point?
The generation that sees the End of Days,
Would they be by any definition,
Masters of their own destinos?

You can't breathe in this hollow tomb,
The town you live in is getting to you,
Then in a fire's ignite,
You can speak again.