Closing my eyes I see them
Gazing into my soul
Wishing they had one
Creatures of fiction
Or perhaps another dimension
Drinking with the spirits
Connects you with the wrong ones
But they can be seen more clearly
Both the malevolent and the benign
Is it imagination?
I couldn’t tell you
Our understanding of time and space
Our fundamental concepts of reality
Are inadequate and highly limited
But what we can attune ourselves to is infinite
And exists in every realm
Including those we’d likely rather not see
Why are nonhuman entities so angry?
They feel trapped
Just as trapped as we do at times
Are there really portals?
Are the supercolliders having an impact on our past? Our future?
Is time linear, circular, or neither
Is this all a simulation?
An advanced R.P.G.?
With thousands of levels?
Perhaps then that’s why I suck at it.
Sipping Canadian Mist and listening to Slayer
The truth comes out but only in layers
At least I’m not bombing like Bill Ayers
My dreams and ambitions rest on the conveyor
To be true to oneself
They say you must mask the truth
That’s why their lies are diluted
And easily refuted
I once was more clever
And as I abandoned each endeavor
I died with my dreams
I hear the tortured screams
That came from my throat
Every day
I abandoned hope
To my own dismay
I’ve destroyed myself
I’ve paid others far more in cash to destroy me
Than I can ever hope to make in an hour
This is how I stimulate the economy
Masochism is not a virtue
I do not feel it should be shunned or shamed
But not necessarily celebrated either
Self-destruction is an addiction in itself
Know your own limits
But proceed to shatter them
Because the only limitation
Exists within your own perception
Fallen angel
Broken and deranged
A ruthless demon
Yet we all share the same pain
The world has been utterly insane
For quite some time
As some proceed to progress
Others are paid to drop the dime
They say snitches get stitches
But in our society they get riches
Who knew the teacher was wrong
When she told you no one likes a tattle?
So I could be one of these scoundrels
One of these weasels
But I instead choose to fail in my own way
And pray so hard for a sad new day
Because no one’s life is perfect
Yet not one of you are worthless
Success cannot be measured monetarily
Or by your emotional severity
Manipulation change the station
Humanity yearns for emancipation
But so many hide it behind a false smile
A false sense of complacency
And I’m no better
I fake it when I have to
That doesn’t mean I don’t work hard
Fucker
Experience the sweetness the bitterness
Experience a madhouse it makes me delirious
I swear I was put here just to be tortured
I am mediocre I am not the scorcher
All the time all the effort it takes to master something
was spent beating myself up again and again
But at least I know I’m ready for the totalitarian takeover
Whenever they decide to kidnap us all
I will be prepared to endure it all
I’m not making much sense
I cannot be this dense
I look back at the years astonished
Wondering where they all went
This isn’t poetry
Nor is it a story
It falls into another category
Much like Plato’s allegory
So therefore I cannot agree
I refuse to see just what you see
What you perceive
Threatens me
What you perceive
Can’t just leave me be
You’ve not a drip of integrity
And neither do I
But I refuse to believe
I was simply put here just to die
I’m desperate to find a purpose
But my father once said, “Never do anything out of desperation.”
And this is one of those times he was right
This is one of those times I must quote him verily
