Circles.
Running green, running black, running
Endlessly.
Life.
Birth, disease, old age,
Death.
Energy- that has always existed
Forever existing.
Time.
An unfathomable attempt to organize
This unharnessable chaos.
And its all so perfectly under control in that way.
Intelligence-
Well how does one really measure that
From an infinite scale of ignorance?
Also, what is knowledge?
What is real?
Who or what am I,
And how do I express or communicate anything...
Words.
The never ending brain stopper-
Heart throbbing chokehold.
By voice,
Ink,
Or engraved within some material substance,
It all is so constantly  perplexing...
But sometimes they sound so eloquent,
When embraced within consecutive junction.
But both my brain and chest,
Including the heart it cradles,
Are beckoning to burst at the edges,
And tear through their seemed borders
Like thin metal ripping through dead scar tissue.
Feels like scraping at all the useless flesh,
And cutting down to the core-
The soul-
Until I can carve myself into something real.
This world is coated in a thick lining of *******,
And we're all just gagging and choking
On the words we repress,
For fear of speaking our minds.
Say something ******* real for once-
Spit it,
Scream it,
Or however you wanna get it out, but just let that **** go.
And don't try to sound like someone you're not.
Because only you have
Your
Voice.