I aspire to be a fictitious savant while forgetting the fact they die at 29 from the daily grind.
And yet I feel I’ve gotta keep pushing.
Thoughless political evil is branding every citizen in seven countries as terrorists.
I had another dream last night, three’s the charm.
Tex returns are borking up my doorstep.
License deadlines happening chaotic by March.
Don’t you want to teach?
Missed the demands to make this place a Sanctuary Campus.
Didn’t I want to push forward?
Gotta play with Drusella and Annabelle before I want to create music by May.
I’m a poetry pizza man, delivering twice daily no tips,
Draining charisma from me like an empty tank of gas,
The juice flows out of me.
(Don’t I want to publish?)
Every day a race against my to-do list,
Inflicting violence to my objectives so their fallen bodies
Line the pit I’d otherwise be in.
Ghost or Android?
I’m beginning to lose the difference between cybernetic and incorporeal.
My ambitions pull robotic ropes on me,
Turning my flesh different and sucking my soul from the inside out.
But if I weather the storm, I learn to bear the burden better.
This is just how it’s been.
How can I call my intentions progressive if what I push forward for is still founded in old chains?
How can I act profound when obsessive self-reflection is already the norm?
I’m trying to expand my head outwards in, pressure builds cracking, hastening explosions taking place to make more scalp space.
These are all too many hats.
I’ve stuffed a month in seven days and blocked all the entrances.
Discussion in the cacophony bubble is entropy incarnate,
And it’s playing me like a:
all at once.
I get tired of hearing me list the things I do to people, this pretentious blowhard can’t find an alibi to hush the mind or intertwine.
And yet, I strain every minute out like a tired muscle onwards to physically sustain the titles I regret explaining.
I’m reminded the time my mania split my shoulder down the middle,
How I couldn’t let myself stop and conducted anyways.
Drum Major was more important than a trivil detail like my labrum’s well-being.
I need a vacation and the last one just ended,
But if it’s anything but work, I must have pretended..