Archive for Incohernt Rhymes

I write…

I’m writing random things that I think of for the reason that writing what I think is more productive than doing what I think because most of my thoughts can’t be acted but only verbalized.

I’m also going to be writing about writing because writing what’s already been written is counterproductive.

At one point when I wrote, writing what I’d written proved to be unproductive because re-writing serves as proofing, but how can I decipher truth when there’s no evidence for what’s seen?

Which in-turn begs the illusive question, what’s produced?

An auto-induced perception of deluded illustrative illusions.

So from then on I haven’t stopped writing because writing what I’m writing right now is the only thing that’s keeping me sane.

I write how I think, I write what I think, and my only fears are unknown knowns that I don’t know.

Good Marrow

I took a shower on Saturn, dried off on Mars, and baked potatoes that were harvested in Uranus’s Autumn equinox.

I drunk from the waters of Nibiru’s bountiful supply, and came back to Earth through a wrinkle in time.

The arbitrary monotony of my existence seems to only act as a blinder to my spirit…

On The Brink…

The confines of my mind are weak, I have no illusion to shelter it.

Even if I longed to cry, I feel too little to shed a tear.

I’m borderline sociopathic with a maniacally monotonous life.

Only beings who’s minds are strong in the world are bread here.

Food for thought, lies are baked for bread and cut with knives that leave a red smear.

Mirrors hear breath, so tread softly within what your sanity’s left, when life’s left the blessing is death.

I’m On the brink of insanity, self aware but paralyzed to feel, the bitter sweet potion that is my life…

An Unreliable Self

My feelings are of Elohim’s words, they’re not constrained by time.

A figment of my vague reality, an existence sheltered by fear.

My being will forever be, but presence will fade.

View me apathetic, having unfulfillable flesh of course.

It is said an idol mind is the devil’s playpen.

That pen I carry, this burden I hold.

This body I serve, this soul is my master, but shade is my virtue.

Without you I am not.

With you what have I not?

I Trust Not!

Time is an illusion the date is up to the beholder.

From firmament to eternity I die forever.

Tides cease, darkness blankets light, faith is no more when eyes lie.

The result is a worn reluctant tear that passes by,

but without flesh it’s wind is torn.

They’ve got you fooled…(Unfinished)

Most of these chicks aren’t even hot…

They’re just light skinned and naked with fake hair and makeup slathered on their faces.

They tell you they’re the greatest which makes you feel complacent the way she conveys it, when her presence graces yours you perceive but you don’t want to face the fact that it bores your senses to witness her artificialness but it lures you to adorn.

You mourn the death of her beauty after it’s scorned with words unpronounceable, then comes denial.

You don’t believe how unprofound supposed beauty can be found, you look around maybe you mistook her for someone else, you feel low like listening to the blues with a deep sound.

You creep around the thought of you willing to go through leaps and bounds to get her to look how she used to, because now she looks like a creepy clown.

As you think the queen of your being has been decrowned you start to see through lies like a an evening gown. They’ve got you fooled…(Unfinished)

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