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Breathe
Apathetically
Cower
Breathe

We are the planets
We are destined to collide
To burn in inferno
To shine the night
And send damnation
Upon better souls
And ruin your own self
Until you are not you
For everyone shall wither
In presence of a black hole
And I am just selfish
For thinking I can control
For you are in denial
To even try to put this at stake
For you are in denial
And this reality is fake
For you are the reason
For you are the one
I cause myself atrocities
And you spit in my face

This is a different age
One filled with cosmic brass
This is a different universe
One sentimental and broken asunder
That leads to my own
INDIGNATION
And you dig up the ashes
And throw them in a cup
For the UNDESCRIBABLE
Cannot be held at stake
And you know that reality is fake

SHUT UP
SHUT UP
SHUT UP
I WANT YOU SHUTTING UP
I NEED YOU SHUTTING UP
SHUT SHUT
SHUT IT
SHUT UP
SHUTING
SHUT UP
SHUT UP

We compare facts and illusion
And find that the truth is dissolution
As we are destined to countermand
A world we can no longer stand
FOR THIS IS A CLUSTER
OF BLIGHTED PERSONAL TRUTHS
AND THEY SPIN OUT OF CONTROL
AS NONE GET ANY CLEARER
They just keep saying to say things to say
And the mundanity scars the arm
As life is taken away

SHUT UP
SHUT UP
TIRED AND JUST WISH TO DIE
FUCKING PATHETIC
AETHETIC
GREAT BEAUTY HELD IN THE HAND OF A BEHOLDER WHO LACKS PROPER EYES TO SEE WHO COULD TRUTHFULLY EXAMINE THE ENTIRE THING OBJECTIVELY AND REALIZE JUST HOW THIS IS JUST A FURTHER USE OF SELF-DEPRICATION AS THE SELF CHASES MISERY.


When the corridors of light whisper
They say “yes” and you wander down them
And get fed
Fed and fattened
Until you become a pig
3DPD
You have shit growing inside you
And the world is shitty
So ergo there is no right or reason to feel any happiness
Happiness is reserved for the 2d
For characters far more alive than you ever could be
And as for me. I don’t know.
I don’t know!

Why can’t I know.
Why does the paper always write itself?
Why does the ink blot when it is done on a computer?
Why does reality blot when there is so much to be alive for?
A puddle of ink. A blackened darkened clod.
One which takes grasp of your soul as you try to bring yourself to a new enlightened era
With hammers.
With knives.
With sticks.
With pieces…

DAYS of Woe OF blackened lies
The day just past you by
The child just died
The child of the illuminated

This is the way the world ends
In fragments.
An overabundance of information on one piece of paper
With none of it really making much sense
With none really having any sort of greater purpose
And thus being utterly useless.