Who are you? The age old question.
Do you really care who you are?
What about other people?
and if they care who they are?
Do you care about other people?
Or perhaps you find your own individual misery
to be more important than all that?
Of course, now you are guilty—
as you should be and bringing more misery;
but even so,
what is the guilt of misery
other than misery itself?
It is self-carnivorous,
feeding on a vital-less energy
something that's long since burnt out;
but here it goes again,
the memory of the flickering flame
its licks and its fingers, pulsatingly bright
blocking and blotting out the vast night's sky.
Could you count the stars?
You know someone once named them.
Giving character to age-old cries
of suns now dead and dying
only a small bit of which
we are barely even a part;
like a teardrop—a salty little spot—just fallen from a quivering eye
such a mockery, so lack and languid, hanging there en potentia.
There is something in that which brings itself alight,
but not on the monies or wares of some great proprieter,
not upon the breaths of giants (and a false weight regardless).
Too much is painted too clearly, in our mind's perfect mementos,
all figure and form—statue and posture.
It's a mimic's land, and not the kindest to fools,
all wrapped up tightly in wool but with the eyes cut out.
Please do not forget
that down a gentle and grassy slope,
magma and lava too
flow gently.
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Bro you ever develop your psychosis and label it corruption and then go on a shroom trip to literally take you back to the past and see what really happened and now you’ve separated yourself from the corruption.
-me bro
“If art is how we decorate space then music is how we decorate time”
It’s literally a page called complex simplicity but we’re gonna change that to. “Conditional Finality” love that evolution
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The trust is stripped from me
As if each loss is a piece of flesh
I am raw, the pain
Honeyed words bring when they fall short
I am mournful that I remain here
I ask myself how, when I was trying to build myself a future
Did I manage to build a prison
For now, I at least have time to wallow
I am not on the processing line
Where his lies seep out into my own responsibilities
I could not be productive anyway
Bedbound by bad energy
A prisoner of long lost faith
But there is no God responsible for my welfare
Only myself and the small contributions others should have made
To forge a content functioning young woman
They have sadly fell short
We all know where it begins and although my sires were perfectly palatable
There were subtle misses that failed in gifting confidence, self-assurance
On the plus side the next section was relatively care free, and in the early days probably the best place for me
An ode to Alice, for I think back then we had it good
Wonderland, to wasteland
She was forced to grow, that's when the first of the flesh was torn
A grim blackness hung over my head, except once a week on a Thursday evenin
I was having fun
That is a small consolation
Thrust into adulthood with no significant training, much like starting a new job
Both of which are things I've epically struggled with
This is where the lack of confidence kicks in
Dating back to a few paltry results in some not so significant tests
Winded by my own self-doubt
Throw love, lust, whatever into the mix
And Alice does not know how to cope with these feelings, to them she seems reserved, nervous
But just as a witch predicted Alice is an enigma
A veiled mystery they crave to crack
And crack they did, the cracks in her formed soon after
Betrayer after user, abuser after user, teamed with underpaid work and lack of social diversity
The sickness spread,
Lastly reaching the point of no return
Eureka, I cannot rely on anyone but I've also lost the ability to rely on myself
Imprisoned by a someone of the like I had never met before, I stayed in perpetual, maddening darkness for a long time,
Now I find myself in darkness once more, user after abuser at the mercy of another,
However I see moments of light
But it breaks my heart to know the light is only temporary, soon to be swallowed by black waves, salting my raw stripped skin
It is no wonder ice queen came, and here she remains,
Imprisoned not only by the them, Imprisoned by thyself
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