Eae Vee Eye El

Words. I am a victim of my own sword.  Clever, conspicuous.

I deliver. But where is my destination.

I follow the current of my own mind. inside.

I bide. time. bending my own pride. wrapping around my head.

sinking into my bed. tossing and turning. wishing and yearning of some way to earn everything I love.

All this ambition. with little decision to wander to find a comfortable position.

Its a battle to fight my own decent. The shadow I reflect is fighting my own cause and effect.

I was left with an option to sink or swim. It has been a journey within.

Taking whatever I can and spin it into webs of gold. Laugh at my differnence.

God made me this way. Many nights I spent seeking some type of repent.

For actions I never meant. Folding over. Turning over in a vehcile becuase a home never existed.

Never knowing what I was becuase everything I emulated before the storm was casted out as saneless scribbles.

Pointless ideas. Dreams not worth chasing.

Not sure what a conscious was becuase the therapist did my thinking for me.

Telling me to give up on telling my story.

Finding my sanity in a psychward as my stomache is pumped from all the liquar and lead that I swolled to drown my broken life.

Calling home hoping for some motivating words but I am hit with poison and knives.

Waiting watching the world spinning around.

hoping for black. Reaching for the light.

Brought back to life. I close my eyes I see myself still there in limbo.

Not sure if I am alive or dead.

channeling my thoughts of everything that could unfold in the next moments I have hoping my time will finally be spent.

Desensitized by illusions that were showcased around me.

Searching the world for hope and love. killing all feeling inside.

For all I known I could have already died.

I am building wings with all the scraps and pieces I find in my life to propel me to some place nice.

Conscious effort to smile. Despite the trails.

I have ambition but have absolutly no idea what basket to put it in. so I spin.

until I master the art of twurling. In hopes that my hands can turn into wings and I can turn into a bird and fly.

far away from the darkness in witch I confide. I am a beacon of light shrowded in the night.

I sing songs for the broken Inspire the hopeless. In hopes to give myself hope.

Becuase I am both broken and hopeless. I am a very good lier and I am beggining to belive my own lies.

witch might be a sign of insanity or success. I am danncing on a grey line. Doing everything I can to remain calm as the water pulls me under.

I practice holding my breath incase I never fall back to the surface of my own consciousness.

I have broken through all the blocks of an artist. The consequences have been devastating, uprooted everything.

The knowledge is power. But is it worth it to live as your own motivator. I am my own enigma. enimey and friend.

They all exist at once. Desciphering witch voice in my consciousness is witch leaves me a mess.

I am unsure of these trails and tests. Where to go next. Strapped and trapped. No transportation but my feet with a satchel on my back full of everything I try to keep intact. Losing something everytime I look back.

Its time to quit reflecting. forever exiting my past. shut the door. Burn it and everything around it to ash.

I am a pheonix. I will be reborn in the fire. So ill dowse my self in gasoline and light myself on fire.

feeling the sensation and heat on my skin that is casuing my blood boil is both satisfying and terrafying.

As a writer I showcase the abilities to build you up and turn shape you into everything you wanted to be.

At the same time in the back of my mind killing msyelf with descriptive words that analyze my head.

I emulate many bright colors. But my insides are dead. My organs have failed. My heart no longer feels.

I am a ghost, a ghoul. a walker. patternized by viscous thought patterns and circles.

dismantle. and repair. I took all my pieces and put only what I like to see there.

my walls are steep. my defences are impeccable becuase I am already dead.

I watched myself die many years ago in the mirror of a bathroom injesting anything that could cause me to slightly be impaired.

Its why I have a cryptic stare.

Truth. I am content. lie. I am satisfied. Made up. Mockery. solace. sanctuary. space. diversity. irregualry. singularity.

Nothing is real. Just smoke and mirrors.

I am wrong. the devil lived to love and evolve only to be concidered Evil. Live to Love and everyone around you turns out to be evol.

back ass words. Love. Evol. They are the same thing. Spun fuckery. webs of riddles and pride.

sins. and false starts. We rule and govern ourselves only to be told we are weak. 

We are strong. The weak break us, majority rules in hopes we dont realize our true potential. 

I am the weak. I am the strong. these battles exist introspectivily and on the surface. 

Wear is managing a manic in the lessons of practice. 

I dont preach much. but these trials can get reckless. 

so my experiance is my knowledge in hopes that these daymares can have some assembelnce of meaning. 

so I might one day sleep. 

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