"Man, what is the deal with these shops"

"huh?"

"Bro, pay attention. These shops, look around. Everyone's on a goddamn computer. Everyone that's 'someone', they ain't typin' shit."

"...Maybe that's the only thing they're typin'"

"Hehehe, yeah. Nah, but seriously, people come here with their groups and laptops and for what? For shit they can do at home."

"Well, maybe they're extroverts."

"People like parties, I get that, but study sessions in a room where I can't hear myself think let alone the guy across from me? What kind of shit is this?"

"20's. I mean, before the 20's so 10's? Well, it looks productive."

"Whatever man."

"I think you needed this."

"Sorry, I got better things to do than drink some hard to pronounce bean juice and flip through stories that'll be on Netflix anyway."

"I meant, when's the last time you've been anywhere? Like a place meant for...talking?"

"Just came from class... Social studies or, ah, history. Enough social activity for ya boi."

"Bro, we talk on discord over WOW and League everyday. Concurrently."

"..."

"Fix your face."

"Fix your vocab, fuckin' alien."

"We yell jargon into the void night after night and Concurrence is where you draw the line?"

"Lines been drawn since the fucker who submitted it to webster clicked his heels together and said, 'Yippie'"

"Alright, whatever. Point is, if it's not about games, you never talk. Think about it."

"I'm not friends with you because I like thinking. We're friends because you can Jungle and your WOW PVP is insane. Also, your families better than my family, objectively."

"Why's that?"

"I don't know."

"I could tell you."

"Bullshit."

"It's cause you don't talk to your family."

"Ah, ding ding ding, captain obvious."

"You sa...Nevermind."

"Well! I said that because my family stop talking to me first. Who needs em? Drunk bitch mom and Deadbeat--asshole--scam artist dad. They still alive, you think?"

"Danny..."

"I'm deadass."

"Bro, I even know she was doin' that cause your... Look, but that's...Stuff happens man. My family ain't all nice and prim either."

"Nicer than that bullshit."

"Your cowardice knows no bounds, dude."

"You got too much time on your hands. Honestly, how do you even know about this place?"

"Starbucks? In Barnes and Nobles?"

"...Ah."

"We have to do this again."

"I'm busy, class shit and other worse shit. Like, existence."

"I'll buy you something."

"I don't read. I'll think about it. And while I'm thinking, I think you should get somemore hangout spots. These people? URK "

"God forbid people enjoy being around other people."

" urk! Stop saying that word, man. I...I don't know the layout THAT well."

"Well. See ya then."

"...Yeah...See ya. It was....Bye."

"Bye."

"You're gonna stay h...Oh, yeah ok. I'll see ya tonight, dude."

"If i got time..."

Broken together, one gap to the next

Subtext clear cut, the rest? Roulettes

Pick an idea, no ruts allowed

What comes aloud is right on the bud

The cusp of a concept long espoused

worked through mud kin spud but now

High above, a cloud gone wrong

Laughter rung a new aspect and song

How could this be? From minds alone?

Don't know? Me either, and that's the goal

[“Imagination offers people consolation for what they cannot be, and humor for what they actually are” -Albert Camus]

Life isn't suffering.

Least not for everyone.

I believe everyone has their own shit, but some people are meant to scoop said shit.

For me, it's a balance.

A metronome at good and evil, pain and pleasure all based on a limited perspective.

This current view from a young adult mind that doesn't feel too adult.

People have always had hopes and dreams--mines were lost decades ago and now I'm bitter at everyone else.

"Look at them...going places with their eyes bright and their passion"

Last time I had some I was told to "lay off" the words "I love you" the game I'm forced to play.

I'm a mystery man without the dark past.

Boring

or not

I was never told.

Moderately high walls of brick, dusty, warm to the touch, coated with moss on the entry and exit points; gates forged long ago, never refurbished or reenforced, now rusted in fair weather. Diem, a place you've been to, a place I've been too, shamelessly unremarkable but a landmark for it's history: implicit and barely known in even the oldest minds. Tourist come and go through narrow streets, chaotic, driven here by a beauty forgotten and away from evidence it was better this way. From the east to the west, the north to the south, not a cloud in the sky or a resident lacking smiles. Not a thing to do in this quiet town, mayhap that's where we're wrong. Where the ancient architecture from the plain one-story houses to the statues of heroes passed fail, the chapels, the cathedrals, the places of spiritual enlightenment and community are very much alive. It lives through the people, at first hesitant to speak on that inner why, brought up and respected, discussed with a nuance many deem impossible, yet coming from the collective itself. The peeking grass through sometimes clear, sometimes stone, and other time muddy cobble adding depth, adding a flower to every exploration along side a new path--endlessly providing entertainment in spite of similarities in the corridors. They broaden further in, wide and spacious, vacant for the most part aside from the casual chirping intruders. Questions, theories of the spectacles seen stir primary impressions, molding them to complex, sharp shapes with a new monastery, temple, organization bound in this unspoken harmonious brotherhood. Magic, fortune, traditions with no origin, enlightening and engaging tales with no novel, broken and almost demolished artifacts abandoned--undisturbed all accumulate into a silent, yet sound culture; nothing losing or vacant of value, yet feeling better off the way they are found. It's beyond a mutual respect for the place. Most never understand the origin of their aloofness, the eye of the world is left a notable mark in finding peace with the mystery that is themselves, the town, and the world around them.

[Opening]

Born outta sin, singled out for the fringe

Soul my soul for the world, on certificate; Can’t

Stroll to the end, cold case to be in

Goal gaining distance, so I’ll roll for a friend

Goading attention in the sunshine

Looked for a long time till my eyes start to fry

Land of the sun ain’t no peace signs

Don’t slack on your stripes or you never gon fly

[Hook x2]

Chillin’ in the heat with our hearts full of ice

We was waitin’ on Christ

I was tryna be right

Sheathing the light

They were seething despite

All the words that you spoke, yo all of us bite.

No bark, cut palms, glades burn in the night

That’s tight, theme song, you know that I like

Been cryin’ my state seems somethin’ like a briar

If you don’t know you won’t know yo, yo,yo

[Hook]

Watchu say? Watchu say?

Think you want a taste?

Better let it bake, playing games those screens

Biltz poor tendency

and diss goal energy

Affixed off the super e

Affixed, Affixed

[Verse]

You was drunk off the fluency

A monk school of cardi B

Amuck with stupidity

A bust tryna ruin me

A bud sore of scrutiny

That tact nothin' new you see they use to call me rocky but my status heal like wolverine

Dutifully, tasked with my ancestors

Eulogy, fresh off the dna and paper

What a dream, lit with the dimmest of tapers--it ain't all what it seems can I pull this caper?

"___ Don't sin!"

We out our minds if we live life like this

All of these avenues cognitively rid

I'm with the shits, if you're in then I'm in, if you're in then I'm in, dog.

(Hook)

Steely gaze leaves the gape stuck Been above but browsing for the wrong one The summit forged some tough stuff Back to waves, back away you won’t wash up Don’t strafe on it Can’t stay runnin’ now Don’t strafe on it Bad taste in a kiss Don’t strafe on it That gaze got you now Don’t strafe on it For a few more seconds

(Verse)

Defeat on feats can’t Love I’m tired

Leaf on beats prone to the pyre

Stuck behind the wire yo numbness seem to split the world

Rose and gold, seen it in a rope, hang or should I go

Blisters bustin’ out my tomes

Mirror mirror all I know

Got no prose Got no show

(Hook)

(Verse 2)

What a load

Of bullshit

Always wanna talk never step up to the

pulpit

Always got ya jaw runnin’

why they run ya spot

Always fillin’ in the dots, for the thots, that don’t think

Bout you on the brink

Do you want release

Lot less of a beast when you got a whiff of peace

Whatchu want, whatchu need Lately I don’t see a me-overbearing

Caring,

loving, bitch we ain’t married

Bitch you ain’t mary

Half me peppered into ya

Dark as it was the centers cusped

Bouncing the light like tennis court

Marital devotion Kept marching when hope end Ed up with no context And singing bout bomb head.

I was going Winston for a minute

Smile was like music to my psyche

Why the volition don’t like me Mediate the cores that’s excessive egcision

In the center of a black room stood nappy black man pacing the floor. Corner to corner, he held his chin and glanced out the window, rectangular with a slider announcing the option to shut himself from the world. The furniture's color eluded him, outside of the ray's reach and made up of contrasting styles from different eras. His bed wasn't even bed, more of mattress on stilts, and his door was so thin it seemed painted on--black with tears of a shabby paintjob trailing off the sides.

I hide my books, I hide my hands, I hide my thoughts. I hide my touch, I hide my views, I hide my heart. I hide regret and regret that I regret. I hide to hide but the light always finds me here. Every night the moon, new or full, keeps me up and aware of how empty this pursuit is. I reflect to understand the world, losing more of my identity through conflicting thoughts. My table is covered in notes, notebooks, and inkless pens. Caps litter the floor beneath the bed, just out of sight from me and any other eyes. Somehow, I'm afraid of other eyes from all the way up here, looking down at the ants of society, brave enough to engage or risk failure. How long can I convince myself to stay here? I wonder this every time I enter, couped up for weeks on end.

He feels empty, ironically, full of himself. Smart, above it all, like the outlier who'll make something of himself while the social school flounders. Three pictures peak out a slit in his mattress of his family and girlfriend, both which he hasn't seen for equal amounts of time. He feels like a hypocrite, stupid to assume a single human has the philosophical, psychological, and spiritual answers the world needs--knowing all too well how they stemmed from other realms, heads, and mouths. Sometimes he doesn't feel at all, watching and waiting for someone to care. Knock on his door or call his dead phone.

"No, that would be awful."

Why would anyone want that?

This room would be what I need, simultaneously what I don't. The introspection quickly morphed into hyperconsciousness: overthinking in this small room. I don't know if I'd be better off in a bigger room. I wonder if I'd want to leave that too.