You force yourself to stay within the lines you didn't draw
I'd ask you why you're doing this but cannot be so raw
Instead I'll go along with all the choices that you make
And put the pressure somewhere else until it is too late
So when the ticks and talks become a voice you do not hear
Remember then that spoken time has said, the end is near
Asylum is for everyone but not for all the same
I think you understand it too, you see the patterns change
Directly interfering with the process undergone
Will neither make it easier nor any bit less long
I wonder who I'm talking to or what I even say
I've stepped away from every sense of sense I ever made

Ground control
     to impulse control
          are you in control?

What's your frequency?
     Whats your vibration?

Your resonation
     has resigned
          from the radar

Too many astral planes crashing
     Lost like a sacrifice
          to the island
          of isolation

My mind's a loaded weapon

Too many triggers
     to finger
     BANG
     temptation

This is lust
     for little deaths
          of inspiration

This is dreams of debauchery
     This is the self-prescribed
     nightmare of reality

Waking up to hangovers
     from a rope
          in the basement

When I lived in the city, night, true night, never came.
The natural day gave way to the artificial day,
a day made possible by streetlight, by humming billboard.
With sick pinks and near-white greys, the early hours
hiccuped away. I slept or didn't. And this time in my life,
as any time in my life, is marked by a woman.

I won't say much about her. She was a performer,
and I've never been a steady fan of much of anything.
So when I kissed her the last time, I kissed her like it
was the last time, a kiss calibrated to say, "It's been."
When she kissed me the last time, she kissed me
like she didn't know it was the last time,
a kiss not so much a kiss as a mouth half-opened eternity,
where the sun didn't shine, nor was there night.

***** my sideways
Laterallity
I make words out of structure
And there's little left to say.

There's a secret door to your right
There's a pen to your left
Create your own worlds
Or be stuck in the one you're in

What's better?
Escaping reality in fantasy
Calamity

We look towards this life as something
So negative
What if the life we're living is the utmost positive?

What if this is the best?
The dissatisfied part of me screams in agony
The happier part shouts for joy.

This truly is the best life.
What really matters, I suppose
Is how we conduct ourselves
and the views we hold.