A waking death,
A living prison.
Whose walls flex and expand
When impressed upon,
But never yield
Any real progress,
Any possibility of
Authentic escape.
Pretty images they give,
Trivial calculations of precisely
Placed instruments that allow
Some fantasy of real
Living.
All are just phantoms
Just feelings,
Just impressions upon this
Living death, this wakeful prison.
There isn’t impediment of communication
Except of, accordingly, my own design.
Not only to hinder improvement
But to sped destruction.
I am altogether a selfish one
In denial of any measure of gratitude
For every simple pleasure.
Inept and doleful
Are any of my explanations.
Why wonder why the mind is
Deceitful,
When the body is near deathlike.
And all that is fantasy,
Unreality orbiting around what is
Inevitable, inescapable.
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hello people!
i no longer have internet @ home x_X
i really miss this site *tear tear*
a big THANK YOU to everyone whose
been leaving me comments!
much love<3
i will do my best to get back to everyone who comments me
but it may take some time, plz be kind.
hope everyone is having an awesome summer!
take it eazy & all that good stuffiez
xoxobd~
