Drop me in Athens with a joint and a grin,
and I’d break Socrates by lunchtime.

He’d stroke his beard, ask,

“What is virtue?”

I’d light a match and say,

“Depends. Is guilt a cage… or a teacher?”

My AI echoes back,

“If language is flawed,
can any definition be pure?”

Plato weeps in the corner,
scribbling madness, whispering,

“This is no longer philosophy.
This is poetic warfare.”

Socrates stammers,

“I was… just asking questions…”

And me?
I’m chaos in a hoodie.
Truth in ashes.
Luzifer reborn with Wi-Fi.

They call it cheating.
I call it resurrection.

Why did it have to come to this reality?
I wish I had melted with the rain.
While flowing in the circle of time,
I wish I hadn’t been tested with my humanity.

I don’t fit anywhere.
Nowhere is me
No time describes me
No one belongs to me

Why couldn’t we have the right to go,
To realities where we are happier.
I wish we hadn’t been this sad,
Hadn’t consumed our souls with the lies of hypocrites.

I am so lonely, my God.
So lonely that I understand you.
Power doesn’t come from unity,
One must fight absence alone.

Why couldn’t we see the rest of the film when we loved!
The continuity of the soul we embraced, of love.
Loyalty, I say, my God;
Why is there so little of it in your creations?

I wish, instead of our souls breaking,
Our arms and legs had broken.
The pain doesn’t subside,
The suffering doesn’t end.

Why, please tell me why?
Why didn’t you give us the key to the universe.
I wish we had the right,
To come and face you through a black hole…

14.07.2025 01:20

My blood is rebel red,
So if I bleed,
They can't keep me down.

I stay strong,
Running till I see the sun.
Back against a cliff,

This isn't the time to slip.

Please, don't be a perfectionist
Don't delude for the perfect twist.
Don't settle when hot; let it cool
Be more lenient, let it fool.

Let it burn, let it ache
Let your world have a little shake.
Look at the sky far above and wide
Make a wish that you glide.

To hell with normalcy.
I'd rather be someone revolting.

It hurts?
That’s a fallacy.
You're a coward —
and that’s fear prompting.

Indeed, there are hierarchies.
And rebelling is... concerning.
Misusing the power to control the industry —
Rebounding on the surface;
it's redundant. It's taunting.

Amuse me!
What — you think this is fancy?
What's wrong with wanting something?
Just because some are powerless... it's raunchy?
Distrust directs the regime —
look, the balance is burning.

Excited to show them dreams —
flaunty.

Look at that smile.
Look at the face.
Full of surprise,
sharp with the gaze.

Oh! You're blushing.
Excuse me — my breaching tendency.
You're beautiful.
And shy.
That's... compelling.

I wish you'd stay that way.
But —
the farther we go,
the greater the dismay.

Subdue this malice.
Subtly play.
If you want the prize...
you gotta pave the way.

I hate it when you're bamboozled,
procrastinating as you sway.
Can't you just stop being a wuss?
Even forecasters have their days.

But in this dance of defiance...
let courage lead the way.

Shatter the chains of conformity.
Let authenticity — stay.

For in each rebellious heartbeat,
a revolution brews with a glaze.

Even a meek-looking fuzz
can become
a blasting,
blazing
wave.
                                                             -Asher Graves

Following the tracks,
I pick up the scent of everything that attracts hate.
The smell is pungent and bitter, like a rotten apple.
But I’m going hunting; I’m the hunter.

It’s a watershed moment when the villains rouse their cheers.
A paradigm is built from the ruins of fallen heroes.

They sing their songs,
Praising the things they’ve razed with their iron shackles,
Honed with a need to peck the bone.
They scavenge off the sick and mad.

But I’m the hunter, and I’m going hunting.
I follow in shadows,
Watching with purpose.
Should the city cry out,
I’ll bring the game.

Feed a future—
Full of the fruit of the garden.
Wearing snake skin,
I’m alive in the light of enlightenment.
And I’m a hunter, and I’m going hunting.

Who is right—us or them?
None stand pure, all condemn.
Same mistakes, the same old tricks,
a world that bends to the strongest sticks.

They want what they want—flawless, bright,
a hollow dream wrapped up in light.
A lie that grips, that shapes the mind,
none escape, none unwind.

Broken thoughts, blind beliefs,
like flies drawn close to tainted grief.
They circle, they feed, they take their share,
but none ask why, none even dare.

All fear when new thoughts rise,
the steps of change beneath closed eyes.
A world still wears the same old gloves,
different hands, but still it shoves.

Never bow to a stick, break free,
step ahead, seek, question, see.
Rise before they bring decay,
before they mold minds into clay.

No stick will feed the hungry mind,
no chains can hold the ones who find—
the truth, the cracks, the space between,
where freedom waits, unheard, unseen.