Why wake up on time, and break the cocoon to face the praying mantis of doom? i walk through the fog, convince myself and make up a lie that really it’s worth what it takes to becoming a butterfly
But i’m balancing on a tightrope, sailing uncharted waters the lighthouses appear and then disappear fore i reach em, read maps without no locations like i know where it’ll get me, flipped a coin it got stuck in the air right at 50/50 - i leaped and the frame froze like a stereotypical ending, i throw you wisdom with blades attached to the rim of the frisbee, i cut myself eating crab without even knowing it happened it’s worth it to get a taste even if you leave in a casket

Bird wings flapping backwards
Carcasses doing backflips
Phantoms skating the strip pouring gasoline throwing matches
A child raises a man, the sun never rises again, a shadow moves in the distance with nothing present to cast it

Nutrients sparse, tell me if you see a garden, do your part to tear apart the nucleus right before the nuclear start
I barf a bloody smoothie of euphemisms and feed em to you raw, don’t bother asking “Is human suffering truly art?”

The zotiyac arrives as physical evidence
Pitiful specimen vomiting abysmal testaments
A stick-figure figure, under 6 feet tall - swallowed by the coffin
That speck of dust in your face that you don’t acknowledge

The problem you try desperately evading without conscience
The conch is talking back for once and telling me i’ve lost it
Like “Where were you before? You were not simply being cautious, you belittled the path before you ever even walked it.”

But guilty til proven innocent or however the sentiment goes
High tides where the temperament flows
And temperature rose at the same time my empathy broke
No motivation to return until the enemy spoke

Fucking with me, long Edward Yang shot, or double take like Stanley Kubrick, the teachings do often become abusive -
But you get to be included, then again what kinda student who dreams to become the teacher? that’s dead society stupid
Without mouth breathing heathens and demon claws punctured in the back of decent working men, “Well how would we eat?”
It’s a fact, tips to insure prompt service and tax to ensure you stay right where you’re at, a note attached that says
“Fuck you, but please come back.”

All contentment thrives alone in the home of abandoned ambitions accompanied by a pinch of misery loves company
And don’t we all love companies? and doctored promotional tactics crafted with the function to open your scalp and submarine - discovery, like single mothers raising destructive teens to find beheaded bodies below the house amongst other things

The latter ain't as much as seems, nowhere as significant as making sure you quarantined, reassuring you’re as clean as
Singapore floors unclog your pores and lower self esteem all for the big machine and synthetic wet American dream

10,000 hours soldering iron and sharpening
Searching roundabout ways to success and soil for gardening solipsism precedes me i feel like a lonely artist when that’s part of it, acknowledging all potential participants, we harvesting the fruit they planted posthumously, so obviously
It’s something telling me to be upset with all the time i spent obsessing over dots that don’t connect, but what i do today that might seem not to have affect will for a fact be in the air on Earth long after i have left

Quiet as kept, violent as death in the eye of cyclones and silence wept, fires crying loudly and the water deaf
God watches in on the circus from out beyond the depths, autographing gravesites in cursive like a scholar prep but we assume, what if he actually need the breathing room? like humans on the brink of extinction but everything is fumes, somebody snap their fingers destroy us all, let the reaper through, if all the lord would like is sacrifice then what could we give to him?

To em .. tomb .. someday we all’ll get it, til then we kicking the wall of the womb consuming what’s in it
Mother of god i fell and i scraped my knee but the finish nowhere in my point of view like a ant whenever you lift it
Skittish as Peter Griffin when fist to fist with the chicken he something like modern women no ounce of bitch in his system
Men who pretend they feminine for the sake of forgiveness and women confuse proverbial chest poking with grit it’s a sickness, all afflicted infected with criticisms
Me myself i included i’ve yet to prove i’m immune a mutant if anything and a slave to the hidden tune, looking for any way to communicate with the moon
Leaving the great escape for the grand arrival at noon, i ain't looking for no way out im just tryna find my way through with a light projecting device, all these broken links in my trail, got the mark of the beast before me, and actual beast on my tail