[ACTIVATE SELF]

Disclaimer: excuse the typos and whatnot. I'm writing this while riding a busy train.

It remains up for debate as to whether or not, we’re here for a reason or here just left to rot. Abandonment complex melting in my alchemical pot.

I'm not quite sure how to peg your style. I suppose it's philosophical in away. Often you seem torn between existinal and nihilistic themes. What's quoted above is a perfect reflection of that statement. It's interesting, provocative even. Your writing has a meditative quality to it. I typically enjoy reading it. Also, "melting in in my alchemical pot" is lyrically and visually impressive.

Love me whole, need me, don’t leave me, lend me your forget-me-nots. Perennial. Stop – time to observe every petal that dropped and shed a tear, insincerely, as the sentiment wants

I dig the transitional wordplay here and the double entandre. For instance, forget me not and perennial represent some sort of continuity in the context of love and or a relationship. While at the same time, "forget-me-not" is a game that involves picking "petals" from a flower. Whereas, a "perennial" is also a type of flower. Then of course there is that subtle bit of wordplay found in leave/leaves - as in more than one "leaf". And in keeping with the theme, I just assume that the "tears" allude to water, which somehow translates into growth of some kind.

I question conscience a lot. Embracing death equates to spending on your burial plot.

Flowers, tombstone, casket, plot ... yeah, it superficial, but brings pre-conditioned comfort, but not always closure.

Except it’s not, unless bereft of knowledge. Stab loose the soil, on divine earth we stood.

So, this seems to convey the unwillingness to accept loss, in particular the loss of a loved one.

Is it unusual to toil ‘til fingers turn inward?

Nah, turning inwards seem like the anatomically correct motion for your fingers to make, assuming your digging/toiling in the dirt. Beautiful imagery tho.

all those earnings put toward a hole at which we never care to look. Unhappy with happiness; prefer the ‘could’. Oh, will we ever learn?

Happiness, like perfection, is stagnation. It's the ebb and flow, ups and down, rhythm of existence, good, bad, the unpredictability of life that makes it such a thrilling experience to partake in. I mean, if everyday's a sunny day, then what's a sunny day, right?

We should. In anticipation a virgin shook. That smell of sex and burning wood lets us neglect the furtive looks filling in for words that would… sour the moment. Celestial bodies collide, we writhe and bow to the motion. Now it’s devotion; beauty flowering, potent, power unspoken. A little life, and a little death found its new home and I ask how are you soaking… up the dribble they churn these days? Feminine. Sacred. Masculine. Ancient. Binary – dated? Black. White. Dark. Light. Death. Life. Wrong. Right. Left. Right. Yes?

Is this about sexual intercourse? The loss of one's virginity? Being spiritually connected to your (soul) mate during the act of copulation, thus bridging the gap between the spectrum (i.e., the ying and the Yang/duality, polarity, etc.)?

No. Let’s subvert nature just to break a tradition. Does dichotomy not pervade and predate our existence? If you truly know yourself, what could I say or hold sway to make you think different? More than just egoic shells, see those aspects well beyond this frame and its gristle. Born blessed survivors, not by nature a victim. Maybe you’ll listen. Maybe you won’t. Say I’m at fault if it suits you. Say I’m a dolt.

I feel like these are the words imprinted into the mental DNA of a sperm cell as it"s rapidly swimming towards the egg in hopes of being born.

Don’t call me a rapper, poet or spoken word artist: I only aim to be human, and still stray from the target. This whole game is catharsis. I don’t claim to be honest. Spent my whole life silently dying for nurture. Fighting inertia, and habits of defining your worth by what lies in your purse or trying to look behind the eyes which observe you. How do you look at yourself and be more concerned with their view? Where’s truth in that, we’re losing grasp on what matters to a terrifying standard. Can you verify you’re candid if you mechanized your manners, is it man or machine? A very fine lined balance, often the greatest ills are not exercised with malice. Somebody told me they do recognise my talent, but two years later won’t let me set alight the mic for more than five minutes. And I’d accept it, if we didn’t act like we were inclusive. Oh, we surely appreciate your nuance yea, if it’s confluent with what we are doing here. Not once have I shared my soul without asking myself - what the fuck am I doing here? Losing hair to stress. Who can hear me best bruise the air with breath? Too concerned/incensed that my self-expression is superbly dense until the words regret the tongue they spill from, and the lungs that build ‘em. How lost we are, attempt to act ourselves, lament the fact we fell like strangers confounded

I get the sense that you are being tortured by the very craft you hold so dearly. You seem insecure and uncertain about what you're doing and who you're doing it for, because no one seems to fully understand you. You are ... as most of us feel ... a tortured artist. I also think that this portion of text is reflective of your frustrations with the Spoken Word community that you are apart of. As a whole the words in this section bleed with pure honesty, raw emotion and truthful introspection.

These disparate strands we cannot yoke, so we remain such proud things. Decay is surrounding: to stay grounded is a fool’s endeavour. Bask in the moonlit splendour, soak in the sun rise that’ll eventually pass. Watch the wind from my window, caress blades of grass. Heartbeats like undulating oceans, elements crash against eternal rock. See the beauty between verdurous landscapes and city’s venomous fog. From a lover’s palm plucked an alyssum flower, its petals gently drop. A metaphor for trying to find meaning I’ve lost. Are we here for a reason? Will you leave a response?

Your purpose is for you to decide. You are composed of all the elements you described and thus is the universe. Know thyself.

Dope drop, Eng. Superb actually. The writing was extremely fluid and littered with incredible schemes, vocabulary, imagery and insight. Thanks for sharing. Peace.