Tongue tied and lips twisted. Theres no freedom for the words that run carelessly on the usual. I can’t seem to squeeze the epiphanies that course through the tubes of my brain, listening to you runs them dry.
Doctor, what’s the diagnosis of this madness that runs through my veins?
They label me as abnormal, but inside we all bleed red.
Crimson flesh, red rivers, fucked up dreams; we’re all believers.
All carbon copies, yet there are those regarded as superior.
The machine is identical, yet ours…
Here is a new map of the world. The features are yours. The Latitude and Longitude run from your beginning to your end. Your feelings are the topological fronts. The isobars your childhood traumas. The countries are the different voices in your head. The oceans are where you sleep at night.
Those…
Nostrils flared and ready to attack. My biggest downfall finally defines me. Yet I stand tall with fake pride and smile. But beneath this plastered face hides an actual truth. That “no.” is not a word in my vocabulary, that “no.” is the single most thing that sparks rare anger. It unveils an ugly side, a flaw easily attained and hard to withdraw.
