Down This Path

Circles

You’re living out of boxes but your mind has flatlined.
The three dimension’s gone and you don’t know if time… is the answer this time.

It even seems to be your greatest demon. 
Your own life committing treason. 
Against its own authority; “it’s clearly about control and it’s all about me”. 

Hazards are a toll. 
But you swear you have boundaries.

Listen, to Heaven’s screams. 
The pearly gates are burning at the seams. 
But you’re asleep now, just not for long. 
You’ll wake up and remember everything that went wrong. 
Cry me a river. You pathetic piece of scum. 
You hate it when he leaves but you love it when he cums.

You love yourself. But you hate your humanity. 
You turned into a calculating machine but started losing your sanity.

You’ve made it worse. 
Abstract thinking was a blessing but it became a curse when you tried to expand it further.

The objectivity is gone and you’ve gone full circle. 
You used to see in rainbow but now it’s just black, blue, and purple. 

Every thought, an act of violence. 
Meant to remind them of the mental dominance that you do so cling onto.

You’ve downgraded in your upgrade. 
Phases and progress turn into stifling trade. 
One for the other. 
Abandon your brother. 
Brethren of circumstance, able to fade into fodder. 
There is no true importance.
It’s not even worth it.

And how they praise you now. 
Hiding under tight smiles and guilty eyebrows. 
They always said that you were the brightest of the family. 
But you started making the same choices they did at your age and suddenly 
you’re beneath them.

So sleep on that paper thin mattress. 
Lose your things in the unfamiliar cracks 
and
lose yourself in the process.
The only thing they can’t take from you is your mind. 
Try to keep hold of that, even throughout that old daily grind. 
Relive the passions that you let go of. 
Become the person that you used to dream up. 
You haven’t forgotten her, have you?

Of course you haven’t, she’s the one that’s harbored the power that you put on hold. 
God, she’s such a fucking piece of gold.
Remember when she would whisper to you? 
Because I certainly do.

Lavender and silver spoons. 
Traces of your fingerprints. 
Unleash the harpoons, time to fish for your broken spirit. 
But you can feel that annoying 
itch 
of your healing wounds.

It’s difficult for you to hold conversation now. 
Riddled with new worldviews and hovering doubt. 
Everything is a question; you remember when you used to hate that. You used to want answers but now they’re flooding out of your magicians hat. 
Maybe if you could just agree with one of them before your neurons collapse.

Everything is playing double dutch with your strings of mental thought. How many coins did that branded opinion cost?

I’m quite sure that you can’t afford it.