Looks can be a costume,
gating the serpents seething.
Sitcoming to mask myself
would leave me feeling
like a vacant borded up home.
Although the temptation leaves me dreaming.
Vanity like a leather belt,
reminiscent of consentual punishment,
with time invested rewarding the deeper the welts.
Often what my eyes tell me is that
what you have is what I lack
and that what you lack is what I have,
but we don't always hold this truth ourselves,
the idea leaves us fiending.
In conversation, under the surface,
while the cracks portrude
another mask is sewn.
because the ego does not condone.
Momentarily I await, living to find proof of existance
among the grave bodies distilled in digitized youth.
Silent waiting rooms looking up
amongst the fiendish eyes
beset on the device devised to
routinize the rest
with no proof of detest.
My own personal bias
occupues the mindlessness
of the seconds idle in the day.
direction has lost focus,
monochrome lenses dial in
my self-preserved misery.
Confirming the delusionment
in my head,
the cause for dread
and the confusion in-between.
Thoughts can weave
a prision cell
with the snares and tisks
Even when contrary thought
seems a rational truth,
it never seems enough
on days like today,
to quiet the illusion.
What legitimizes belonging anymore?
Comradare is just a selfie
taken to annoite a status update.
Is this just an illusion
as a product of self deception?
To my perception it appears as haunting as it sounds.
I've otherized myself to the brink of social danger,
looking around and wondering to myself
if social norms could evolve to be any stranger.
Currently apathetic to the notion of
understanding and adapting.
Retracting with my sociability,
is also my desire to keep up apperences.
Equivically my sanity appears
to be rotting in moments of the day.
The confusion has me shattered
although I'd rather be flattered
by my own idea of belonging,
than accepting the new notion of kinship.
I won't follow you until you like me
nor literally or figuratively.
Finding humor in the annoyance
in solidarity is a day I would rejoice to see.
Monuments rooted institutionally in objective frame,
unmoved by mortal memory of whats been and come,
only in my mind lives a backdrop of my discomposure.
A carcass of a previous vessel unaware
that a future self would ruminate the scene.
The past is just the past tense of now,
and dread arouses me whenever I come back to this town.
This place is just a place that knows no context or setting,
regretting i'm driving by, torture is progressing,
thoughts repressing, I'm digressing.
Everyday speak is masked with memories of when,
partitioning myself consequentially to subsist,
prepared for unknown outcome,
language is costumed and I'm out of tounge.
Participating in reality again,
I stand and refuse to climb the rungs,
to my detriment or benefit.
Put me to sleep and tuck me in,
where the woes of the world can finally rest,
be as it is without no contest.
I'm simply wasting away,
while building a nest
to hide away for only today,
and maybe tomorrow.
I'm nothing without my sorrow.
I think to myself,
as I anticipate tomorrow.
Happiness and sunlight seem regimented,
in a day when theres nothing comfortable.
Where conformity shatters the definition of beauty,
and where all advances in self become vain to the rest of the world.
Yet we crawl to compete daily,
unconventionality prompts disquist
in the eyes of those that have it easy.
As it is, one way to describe the disposition
of the blind leading the blind to an everlasting
backwards notion of contentment and flying freely.
An arch enemy of mine is the pleasantries shared
daily amongst the world.
The way to survive is to accept
the saturated society as a threat,
crafting a self preserved armory against its helm.
Leaves one desolately searching for kin amidst the dreary
reality of the last act of proposed consciousness.
Flooded with the digital tidal wave,
most will sit and folly,
until all is lost in a wasteland,
of mindless laughs and jollies.
If your presence doesn't benefit them,
search of an anomaly instead,
desolate at times, does it even matter?
Everyone omits the same slang
costumed in matching variation,
familiar strangers who know my name,
static relations without explanation.
Life's purpose is meeting the status quo,
for most of whom all I know
tip-toe off the surface,
off the grid you go.
What is left to prove,
to those who see my irrelevance?
Why do I even care when being liked
is a game I do not wish to play?
Although, I'd like you,
if only you weren't this way.
To which you probably mutually agree,
in regaurd to the likes of me.
good feelings reep rewards,
of paranoia in extremes.
Wanting the feeling to end
because I'm convinced its a joke.
I struggle to understand it,
so I worry it away.
Its deamed to be a danger,
my bones now beging for a feeling I understand.
Althought all I've ever wanted
is currently where I am.
Unbecoming in the process
of finding out when I get to
stand and face my tragedy
and look it in the eye and smile
instead of cry.
Am I regressing in the worst of ways?
Or could this be a series of a string of bad days?
I wake up daily to the dillusion
that everyone has already given up.
Hope and future seems invisable
with every second feeling like the time is up.
Concussed at times,
feeling so behind, blinded
and wishing to resign.
Excuse me while I step forward,
into a life I wasn't assigned.
Fear nesting in my bones
I don't know where I'm going
but it wont be what
I've always called home.
Pre-emptively declaring disaster,
planning out my demise.
Working twice as hard
to make sure my suffering
recieves an applause.
Just a thought,
its wack to think we all
avoid to display our suffering
and make belive perfection.
Afraid to be authentic
so we throw time away.
No profound words,
just a simple observation,
documented in time today
for later reconcilliation.
I am bothered.
I see that you're not.
I dissapeared slower
the more that I fought.
For long enough,
Strangers are who I blamed
when it was my own mind
causing the pain.
You were my reflection,
and the scorn when its internal,
burned and bleeding
through your eyes.
Snickering glances and vacant sighs,
entered my body and remained for the day.
As I resorted to concluding,
it will always be this way.