Thought cycle gusty a mind filled with hot air.
Must I care for nothing more than myself? Do I dare
admit the fraught thoughts cavorting? Resorting in inner-directed mourning
for the part of me that was selfless but left without a warning.
Well that's what I said, but maybe it's the fact that I detest
this obsession with myself that's left a mess inside my head.
Oh s*** I'm doing it again, repelling any potential friend,
revealing my innate ability to never fully comprehend
anything bigger than myself, but in the end I still pretend.
Condescending anyone polite enough to choose to misspend their time
watching me as I achieve my secret social mission.
To drain people with my boring stories and opinions.
To see the bigger picture takes intelligence and wisdom,
but I won't see nothing more with just myself in my vision.
I go outside a blitz of faces unwilling to admit to any empathy,
endlessly incessantly declining any pleasantries.
Heavily breathing, socially teething. I'm open like a vivisection.
Intense tendency to dwell, seething over missed connections.
Infected by my perceptions that I'm a non-entity,
project my insecurity until intensity is weaponry.
Grieving a heavenly fiction I perceived whilst I was dreaming.
Awake! Freezing, wheezing, fundamentally I'm still believing that,
this is an elegy for concepts I conceived in deep sleep,
as I helplessly watch them fade whilst I awake, I try and keep them alive.
Incomparable with life but eventually they die
and the brain I used to c**tivate reveals my lovers where a lie.
When inside my mind I find a way to replicate reality.
Through lucid dreaming I decimate the limitations of actuality.
Capacity practically eternal, mortality external,
no god but I investigate the blasphemous worship of the nocturnal.
Internally existing without morality creates profanities without the travesty
and compared to the apathy of realness I reveal my own insanity.
The majesty of fantasy protects me from tragedy.
Normalities effects traject the agony of rationality.
Which thankfully penetrates with no avail to my unreality,
an elaborately designed privately owned spiral galaxy.
Financially I'm failing, naturally decaying.
Soon I'll have no safe place to sleep if these bills still need paying,
displaying cravings with open eyes for something mind expanding
for when I drift away I see the totality of understanding.
Must I care for nothing more than myself? Do I dare
admit the fraught thoughts cavorting? Resorting in inner-directed mourning
for the part of me that was selfless but left without a warning.
Well that's what I said, but maybe it's the fact that I detest
this obsession with myself that's left a mess inside my head.
Oh s*** I'm doing it again, repelling any potential friend,
revealing my innate ability to never fully comprehend
anything bigger than myself, but in the end I still pretend.
Condescending anyone polite enough to choose to misspend their time
watching me as I achieve my secret social mission.
To drain people with my boring stories and opinions.
To see the bigger picture takes intelligence and wisdom,
but I won't see nothing more with just myself in my vision.
I go outside a blitz of faces unwilling to admit to any empathy,
endlessly incessantly declining any pleasantries.
Heavily breathing, socially teething. I'm open like a vivisection.
Intense tendency to dwell, seething over missed connections.
Infected by my perceptions that I'm a non-entity,
project my insecurity until intensity is weaponry.
Grieving a heavenly fiction I perceived whilst I was dreaming.
Awake! Freezing, wheezing, fundamentally I'm still believing that,
this is an elegy for concepts I conceived in deep sleep,
as I helplessly watch them fade whilst I awake, I try and keep them alive.
Incomparable with life but eventually they die
and the brain I used to c**tivate reveals my lovers where a lie.
When inside my mind I find a way to replicate reality.
Through lucid dreaming I decimate the limitations of actuality.
Capacity practically eternal, mortality external,
no god but I investigate the blasphemous worship of the nocturnal.
Internally existing without morality creates profanities without the travesty
and compared to the apathy of realness I reveal my own insanity.
The majesty of fantasy protects me from tragedy.
Normalities effects traject the agony of rationality.
Which thankfully penetrates with no avail to my unreality,
an elaborately designed privately owned spiral galaxy.
Financially I'm failing, naturally decaying.
Soon I'll have no safe place to sleep if these bills still need paying,
displaying cravings with open eyes for something mind expanding
for when I drift away I see the totality of understanding.