C4…

My mind…
Been imploding.
Motives demoting,
Helplessly floating,
Through;
Seasons of coping,
But I hold on,
Still just hoping,
That I can change.
Because;
That possibility,
To me is strange.
Life’s been;
Completely rearranged,
Strapped with C4,
And;
Shackled in chains.
Who here;
Knows these pains?

Wasting youth,
Searching for truth,
Only to find,
Another pointless,
Excuse.
The white flag,
Calls truce;
But that means,
Absolutely nothing,
To a world;
With morality loose.
No sense of self worth,
So I just take the abuse.
You see; I deduced,
That it is I who,
Is reclused.
Suicide; Ain’t always,
The result of a noose,
Sometimes we hang from,
The irrefutable proof.
Head’s in the clouds,
I remain aloof,
As my sense of security,
Leaves, like *poof*
Astronaut falling from space,
Back to Earth;
Crashing through the roof.

Been blowing up,
Like terrorism.
Trapped like light,
Within a prism.
Spiritual exorcism,
Keeps my vision,
In division.
Accepted that I,
Only live with,
God’s permission,
Yet my hypocrisy,
Is an;
Unsolvable condition.
Ain’t like I haven’t,
Had my life on exhibition,
Set the expedition,
For my story left unwritten.
Painted the depiction,
Of my fears & suspicions,
These unclear premonitions.
Excuse me for the intermission,
But;
My interstellar flow be switchin’.
Palms itchin’;
It’s a restless condition,
That keeps me killin’,
The competition.
What do I have to prove?
Real question is,
What do I have to lose?
I live the fate I choose,
Stuck between,
Wanting to remain anonymous,
And making headline news.
Stuck between,
My sobriety & the booze,
Domestically abusing,
My muse; That burning,
Poetic fuse;
Withering away until,
I subdue my residue.
Wisdom is knowing,
That you;
Do not possess a clue.
You see;
We don’t have the time,
To think it through,
Although we know,
That ain’t really true,
Now is it?
Keep the door locked,
Next time;
Your demons come to visit.
I wanna live a life exquisite,
But my environment,
Is just too damn pessimistic.
I promise my words,
Hold optimism,
Despite;
The thoughts,
Explicit.

1, 2, 3, C4,
Raining down,
With the meteors.
Is there any point,
To these metaphors?
Aren’t we all too absorbed,
Within our own internal wars?
Wanna clean house but,
Won’t do the chores.
My ear’s pressed against,
The floorboards,
Listening for unsettled scores,
Promising illusive rewards.
Been strumming,
My pride like guitar chords,
Walking forward,
But not sure;
What it is that I’ve been,
Walking towards.
Fear I should run cause’,
Here comes the zombie horde.
Fear I may become one,
If I don’t draw my sword.
We all know; TRUTH LIES,
When you ponder it more,
Overthinking causes the mind,
To replace information stored,
Best to remember that memory,
Is not always rest assured.
Perfect sanity;
Is much too expensive,
To afford.

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