[neutral]

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. 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 question conscience a lot. Embracing death equates to spending on your burial plot. Except it’s not, unless bereft of knowledge. Stab loose the soil, on divine earth we stood. Is it unusual to toil ‘til fingers turn inward? 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? 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? 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. 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. 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?