the things you see are only just reflections. but does that make them any less real?
i think about nothing, except how the sounds bounce off the walls
the colors are so surreal
life, seems, different. i try but its hard to explain
the people dont seem to understand the diference between life,
and living
i feel, like im the only one whos not completely insane
but then again, im edging towards oblivion, and it wont be long untill i am the same
the-sky is-glorious,
dont you wish you could float away?
i- see- nothing, like you have ever seen
the life
the sounds
the feels
it continues to amaze even me
the world is, toxic; like ourselves,it needs time to heal
there is no justice in the fabrications of the real
you must learn your own existence, or in life you will fail
my mind, is endless. like space, it is undefined
what is this feeling? am i supposed to know whats going on?
who wrote these novels anyways?
and, how did they find the time, to describe the entire spectrum of being,
in one
simple
line?
you are a little too forgiving, considering the state of my insides
why cant i sleep?
is there nothing that can be done?
how much longer is this going to last?
is there enough time left in the world?
what is time? and why am i governed by its laws?
the individual is responsible for perceiving their own realities, so whos to know what realy going on?
put all you faith in the things that you believe
if you believe, it will become
I Am Endless
