Sometimes I feel like I'm not human, this mask of flesh is hiding my ruin, the ropes, just never seem to loosen, gradually taking space, slowly consuming, this must be the impending doom that's been looming, coming to a boil, brewing, nonchalantly becoming a natural anthem, these ghosts and these phantoms, the past is something haunting, ever so daunting, spawning a shortfall of belonging, it gets exhausting, all these worn out thoughts, advance into worn out days, urokinase, the fact of the matter is my time left here is grave, so these seconds left, I try to capture and save, the abridgement of praise, has me unfazed, cudgel my brain, it happens every now and again, beard the lion in his den, come on, come on, come on, come on in, the craftsmen yielding a poison tipped pen, shouting out the here and then, heartless, maybe, so I must be tin, my assumption is to just take it on the chin, consistently being spread too thin.īut it's ok, when you are down and out, then you can see the world and what it's about, figure out your route, there is no top, if you've never been to the bottom, most people would rather roll over and play possum, ain't that awesome?, weaving through life's slaloms, everyone is a fighter, it's in our atoms to topple those columns, everything that sinks floats, vivacity is exacting when going for broke,
