Your body intenses, all six of my senses. You push through till the extremes, until I have to
whimper through my screams. I'm ashamed you reduce me to such an animalistic need, but you're
guilty of genius. Enlighten me, delight me with the presence of your perfection, you spoil me in all
of my dreams with weapons and whippings. You've stolen the worship of anything outside of me, but
even then: I drown in the water I was only supposed to dip my hand into. A gaping mouth letting air
escape lets me know how little it took for the consumption of heart to devote me to take the path of
sacrifice, heart attacks ruin me, but it makes you happy. That's why I've got to dive into the
decadence of indulging into your abyss, down, down, down, and I drown, drown, and drown. And in
that death receive my life. I'm a nihilist trying to be romantic, spare me the criticism of
reasoning irrational philosophy.

There are times when to play poetic and when to speak without imagery, it's a constant conflict,
stylistically. But the only exception of an influence, that I sometimes let direct me, cause I like
the way he pushes me, is this gothic mess that has been a victim of the media and survivor of the
press. He lets the things that repulse him, intrigue his interests the most. But why does he bother
to be a philosopher, a journalist of all there is, to educate the slanderously opinionated, but
refusing to ever understand or comprehend the matter of the issue. A hopeless cause, wasting time
and energy, but that's just me. Maybe it makes him happy that his voice did reach out, obviously,
and save a life like me. He loves humanity more then he'd want to admit.

As life is Pandora's Box, where curiosity unhinges all locks, ignorance unspills a lot I wish
the box wasn't such a beauty and that girl such a cutie, jealousy eludes me from ever being too
pretty And I notice a lot but never observe the plot, never could be an oracle without predicting
my own hanging. All things come and go, eventually as ordained by fate and destiny. As I listened,
inattentively, to the lyrics this guy was singing. I new I'd worship him stalkerishly,
awkwardly, and adoringly because suddenly there was validation to all these thoughts without
stability, that I was thinkin, and then some. When I failed to reach out for someone's hand,
his voice found me and dragged me somewhere new and beautiful. How messiah-like, he is too
egocentric to know that compliment and take that insult.

Life is full of self drama and inner tragedies, but hope is the key, that you got to be strong
enough spiritually to overcome and develop from all this misery. Or be the exception to all of it.