this prayer, is my last
if all the trappings of the world
go to people who set traps
and imagination, romance, and the philosophy of sages
don’t change the game
and we are controlled by chemicals
and live for the next high
Who are we, really?
My internal echo chamber of happiness and pain
has little to do with this game.
Perhaps, words can make you want to win—
but if society, can’t solve you
and gets confused
what do you have, but your own self-created name?
So many people, just want to lose
they don’t make the choice
because they don’t have a chance.
I have to rely on magic
what else is there?
A perfect plan, is a predictable path
I must transcend
and beaten men
and be a master of no man
respected, by every man
and laughed at
Even with my eyes removed
My last wish, is to choose
to find strength from somewhere
I never knew
and bring down this roof
on my enemies.
Who are they?
My own inadequacies
that root me, in reality
like poisonous plants
without them, I wouldn’t feel
what I need to feel
they torment, my soul.
Maybe we are praying to ourselves
when we try to cast a spell
with our words.
make us manufactured chemicals.
I don’t care
if random mixing
or down-right foolish
I can’t be, what is already there
I want to write my own life
say my own words, and watch the world change.