Where Sound and Touch Meet to Make Mastery
Every twist of tongue composing a symphony exclusive to her soul, the rhythm of their movements a private sonnet of their love. Growing in each others habitat, feeling high and low the keys, making riffs of pleasure, pressure, and unity of rubbing spirits as close as they can reach. Tuning instruments of love warmly readying to play, and if such songs please the architect, the fruits of fusion flow.
Humans a Failed Experiment
My depression is loosely based on my lack of satisfaction in my achievements as a member of society. This feeling is a reflection of my lack of satisfaction in society’s overall achievements as members of existence.
Consciousness was awarded to the species with the greatest scientific potential to expand understanding of the unity of matter.
What happens if this species loses sight of the prize, becomes content with itself and its own dimension, and turns its nose at thee?
Back to drawing board for our cosmic teacher and maybe with it our ability to think.
Scary to think we could be too stubborn to hold onto the greatest achievement in our evolutionary race.
What Some Open Arms To, Others Shield Their Eyes
As where the vast majority would say I have lost my way, I feel as if I have had a fleeting moment of clarity, the aftertaste of such has slowed my societal drive.
Without the support of my loved ones, I would be a dream-filled drifter, a pondering wanderer, roaming the overly possessed earth for some clue as to where humans lost sight of their true purpose to matter itself.
I and my twin soul to which I feel in my heart of hearts, the same cloth we share, native fabric of our woven spiritual make up, we have imprinted our perception of existence through the most sensational, timeless intersected moments like a hand on the glass separating imprisoned family.
I only hope the genetic knowledge passed from our lavish union will be enough for our heir to enlighten forgotten purpose. Sadly I have to fall back in line for a time to make sure my legacy flourishes and over exceeds my impact on eternity.
Earth is still, after all, a seemly loose controlled experiment. A toddler in a premature solar system, within an adolescent galaxy. Far more attached to our brother and sister systems than the majority of the universe.
When my spirit leaves this organic prison, will it travel to the nearing sweet spots of human life?
Ready, Get Set, Ego
There is a fine art to humbling arrogance which may hold the key to the salvation of humanity.
Cons or Prose?
Are all artists of the written word damaged, depressive, introspective, quiet dreamers?
Post script: I was going to add alcoholic to the list but I hate to entirely stereotype my favorite hobby.
We are conditioned to be consumer consumed. We are brought up in hubris, tricked into pomposity. Societal traits are force fed from infancy. The strive for success instilled is based on mass possession.
It’s easy to forget each human being has undergone billions of forms, shapes, and sizes, reassembling DNA, forming an organic ecosystem of which millions of living things are working in harmony to allow us to function.
Everything is a sponge, we all are born of stardust, remember who you are and KeepCosmic.
Expanding/retracting, absorbing/expelling, accelerating/decelerating, sucking/blowing, increasing/decreasing, giving/taking, hot/cold, STOP
My Main Damie
I met you back in ’02. That was back in high school. You were just a freshman, but you became my best friend.
Always rockin' Jnco's, bumpin' Great Malenko, and screamin' crazy shit at the top of your lungs like a sicko.
Alone and Diseased
I wish that I could rip out all the disgusting, teenage angst, bloody, raw, and dripping from my chest and shove it down your throat, so you know how it feels, you can know how it feels.
I miss the times that you weren’t on a raging, alcoholic, binge, drowning all your beauty with a bottle, trading me for liquid sin, for liquid sin.
If only I could let you know how using people feels, but I would never put you through the shit that you have put me through, you’ve put me through.
I’m fucking crazy. My mind has ran away from me, so maybe, you and me were meant to be alone and diseased, diseased and alone.
I know you think that I’m self-righteous from the way you’ve seen me act, but that doesn’t justify the lies you spread and shit you talk behind my back, behind my back.
To hope that one day things will be the way they were before is to expect for me to act my age and ignore the fact that you want more, that you want more.
You made me, don’t let someone else play with me, they’ll break me, just like you broke it off with me. Now we’re alone and diseased,
diseased and alone.
Days fly by on autopilot.
Sometimes I don’t feel a thing.
I just watch myself and ponder if
I’m living in a dream.
I watch people, their faces, and the expressions that they make. I sit around and wonder if they’re real or if they’re fake.
This is a new age. I thought this was a new age.