the
illusion of confusion
reality
contusion
it
may only be as i perceive
but
i can’t stop the receive
bombardment
of my senses
there
is no consensus
cause
i really don’t share your views
i
find it all unpleasant
like
buckshot in a pheasant
but
the me that’s in need
isn’t
strong enough to conceive
of
an action that will effect change
enabling
my unhappiness
with
excuses that it doesn’t matter
most of all me
at
the forefront
no
homerun, not even a bunt
still
sober
and
man does it fucking suck
no
place to hide
in
stasis i abide
missing
the obliteration
the
mental vacation
the escape
existence
is rape
i
just want to paint the windows black
and
never go outside
waiting
for something beautiful
to fall from my pen
but
my art is akin
to
the dead dry skin
we
leave on our sheets every morning
played
all my mazzy star CDs
moved
onto hope Sandoval
and the warm inventions
because
its art and it’s beautiful
like
sitting next to kerouac
and the sea
while
he wrote big sur
but
back to my unsure
if
i change the circumstance
i
change the stimuli
but
is that the definition of happiness
i
don’t know
i
just use to get wasted
circumstances
unchanged
but
my perception altered
and
i no longer cared
not
looking for things to be fair
that’s
just a concept
fairness
doesn’t really exist
and
yet i have a list
of
things i don’t want to experience
today
is not a due i pay for yesterday
there
is only the moment
and
how we let it affect us
so
i guess i just really suck
at
extra sensory perception
but
i’ve never been a collection
of
someone who saturates the scenery
with
the colors i want the context to be
i
just concur with the endure
and
return to the scene of the crime
waste
my rhymes
on
ineffectual inundations
i’m
a monster of my own creation
a
tin man looking for a brain
that
doesn’t process the mundane
as
a meaningless memory best forgotten
oh
dig me up and fuck me rotten
cause
then my senses will be inoperable
and
i’ll finally achieve what i truly believe
***
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