Between information and entertainment
While I practice my own divination
From criticism and determination
I find that I'm deteroatinng
Before all my summer leaves turn red
And fall to hit the ground so dead
I practice every page I read
Recitie it a million times in head
Then deep in my globes core if woes
Where more than the hottest magma flows
My thoughts turn to plasma
I cannot stop the phantoms bantar
So if I super solider
The serum imperium
I shall shake the frustrate if the open hand you take
Supported?

Rage
Followed by fear

Blank expression
Abandoned voice
Traceless imprint
Jaded enthusiasm

Scream into the void
Preach your poison gospel
Fear fills your frame and flows through your veins
Anxiety is your life blood

You crippled, broken beast
You pathetic excuse for a man

This is not me
You are not I
I live, ready to drink the sweet nectar of life
You forsake it, spitting in the face of altruism
This is not me

A crippled, broken beast
A pathetic excuse for a man

So many others crave the life you so readily condemn
Anxiety is your life blood
Two egos trapped in the same vessel
I owe myself life
Yet all you know is silence

I don't know how to explain this feeling
If you can even call it that
It's more like how to describe someone devoid of feeling
I lack the capacity to demonstrate emotion

But then does that mean that when I cry it is just for show?
Or is it that my body reacts externally but not internally?

I guess it's difficult to explain something you've never had.

Perhaps beauty is not the glitters and gold of perfection. But the scarred cracked frame of reality. And as we explore these trenches; we find the most rarest forms of honesty.