Isolation,
non-placement,
outcast,
condemned,
demonised,
tortured,
abandoned,
non-existent,
your spirit forever trapped
in waves of constant static
with a confusing reality provided
to you upon birth,
then forgetting hearing
the screams of newborn life.

What were you before?
When did you remember thoughts of self realisation?
A soul reconstructed to amend in this world?..
one condensed stream of consciousness
within our race & being?

Animals being our livestock for a juicy meal.
Water being a essence,
nature our veins,
and drugs to divide and conquer our souls to see beyond..
yet crushing it's victims for a taste of bad buddah.

Looking forwards this false full moon,
I am bleeding from the fresh cuts presented in my chronic life time.

Existence is too survive, and to make choices based on emotional drive, and troubled missed guidance thoughts and self ambition. Real survival is evil, and a test for someone else's pleasure.

Something is feeding off my energy, a unseen force I see in the mirror everyday feeds upon me. Like the cockroaches I find underneath my lips.. the only food left 2 eat.

However when one's mind is free to ponder, we are gifted with thoughts of celebration into the netherworld. A glimpse of peace as we stare at the stars, a brewing cosmos that is infinite.

Then I drift back to this hell,.. this hollow place of darkness and regret.. in this black hole my light is dimishing.. and so is yours..

I hear the screams from my unborn fetus..crying out for it's mother, while I sit and stare at my slow death very suddenly and quietly.

I hear it's suffering.. it hears mine.. We both look towards the forbidden black sun waiting, waiting...

Counting the lost ticks on my cloak, a false sense of time watching as my flesh is peeled at every moment.. my spirit ready to leave..

I ascend to the higher plane..
A unknown dimension
With my electric energy..
My everlasting soul..
Condemned to watch others dying eternally..
In the static reality..
Maybe our idea of real death was better..
Than this morbid existence of self preservation..
We are not gods
We are the dream..
But who's the dreamer?
lights on... lights off..