roads

I don't expect people to understand. Honestly, they can't even understand.  They don't give a shit. They're all NPC's living in the matrix. Watching time tick, playing with their dick, thinking fuck all but the next dopamine hit. Fucking pathetic. Do I offend you? You who stumbled here into my room? The one who intrudes? That's you. I don't seek fame or fortune. I have a career and enough money for what I need. My art stands on it's own for me. That's something I learned through this mystery. That the act of doing so is so fulfilling, so invigorating, that it rivals going over the speed limit. Not just 5, 10, 15 over the limit, but way over the limit where one wrong move will end it. And that doesn't even come close to what I felt. I've done plenty of drugs in my life. None of them became addictive. Because it was fake. Codeine? Ecstacy? Weed? I've done all of it. It's all inauthentic. Anti-depressants, yes I've tried it. You know...

my hands and feet seem to be finally recovering from the emotional arc I was going through. It honestly felt like a kaio ken moment where my senses were just dialed in so hard. it honestly did feel like destiny even though I had no idea what I was doing and i dont know what I even did. Probably one day I understand it more once time passes.  Havent played so much guitar and bass in recent times. Its been so great to be able to reconnect to music as such a fundamental level and to also go so hard into poetry. Something I avoided for a long time due to the "sissy" or "girly" nature of it I had. I feel more confidence as an artist now although I still have a long ways to go before I can create something that can truly reach those dead npcs we call others. If only others could feel what I feel. The intensity is seriously unreal. I wasnt built for this world, which is why I feel i have a duty to change it. fuck you if you dont like it. come fucking fight me. you wont cuz...

at the end of it i prefer none of it to be seen in the public eye it changes what i cry stories and parts of myself that i never shared out in the open, stabbed and stared- at and ridiculed but honestly,  it doesnt offend me precisely because i never tried to impress anybody its more of a relief  that i was able to fully commit  to something so deeply  and come swimming back like an addiction but without developing a habit. ironic,  my tendency  to develop an obsession to immerse myself turns out its good for creative outbursts

thus a story comes to a close with an experience i enjoyed with many creases and folds lots of ups and downs, mystery all around a chance for me to explore creatively in new grounds definitely felt an awakening for my artistic mind something i refused and avoided the grind but knowing the capability that i hold i wish to create more defined stories that i can shape and mold

 under the surface of the lake lies an undying fire, engulfing everything it touches on the surface, theres not a mutter a calm still face, no bubble in place but below the water is a dangerous place rage, anger, vitriol and hate sorrow, depression and pain joy, wonder and agape swirling in a monsoon of heat chaotic and random, yet keeping a beat the water hold it over but what happens when tycoons spill their greed all over?