They want to rub us out
like Jack never met Jill
vigorously
whether it's with culture or with pills
we're excised
by the rising tide below the hill
we'll die up here
who will be the one to make the ****?

They want to put us out
to pasture
like a light
They want us all to doubt
we have a real reason to fight
They've got us figured out
so They think
well, They might
switching up opponents
quick as day turns into night.

They want us to be quiet
as a mouse is to a man
They want our only diet to be
yellow eggs and spam
They want us smiling sweetly
like our teeth were made of jam
up here we only grimace
at Their sinister advance.

They want us not to linger lest
our love become the truth
They want us to move on
without a second point of view
They want us to point fingers
so that's just what we'll do
and who are They?
the question asked, the answer
could be you.

I have split the sane and insane part of me into a helplesss philosophical mind party.
The faces I see staring at me, seem scary as a clown on ecstasy.
I cant quite keep it together, the tight rope is wearing thin
I can barley function my paranoir is setting in
I'm trapped between two worlds of helplessness and shame
Each one trying to dominate the game
The apocalypse is real and I'm in the middle
They say its mental illness, I say its real
.

(Inspired by ‘paranoir’ by Riz Mack)

Reckless Jack and fair Jill, youthful hearts aroused,
did scale that hill, less for water, than illicit thrills.

Atop that perilous height, they began a lover’s fight.
Stolen moments, once sweetly solaced, can prove brief.

Alas, the twisted tryst, turned awkward tumble swift,
with clothes askew and most immodest bruises blue.

Honest folk, share this lesson far and wide, by rhyme and tune -
beware young lovers, less passion's tide prove a bumpy slide to ruin.