when our days are numbered
we fight for inspiration
we take it every second
the clock an enemy
when we see its hands
as the sands of death
our glass half empty
half full of eternity
when our days our numbered
the small betrayals take on a holy significance
that must be disregarded
cut your losses every minute
every strike of the bell a stroke against hope
life itself is setup
never let down your guard
lest you stumble in to a trap
seen coming a mile away
inching toward you with both feet
handing you an ultimatum
decide if you die
maybe you dont
you never know
where you are bound to go
above or below
people climb upon each other
flesh ladder of success
failure inevitable
when winning is at the expense
of wellness
less is more when nothing matters
and nothing does
and we are nothing
and thats what counts most
i relevant
or irrelevant?
i rebel regardless
i revel in the godless
as i take all that god gives
i rely on the heartless
to prove exactly what this world is
harmless to the mind of an artist
so i dare you to scare this nonconformist
not that i dont bare my scars its
just my reality so utterly formless
i intend to both worship and ignore this
so remember before the manure hits
that beautiful flowers are grown using horse shit
the poetry that f lows through me
understands intrinsically
the dichotomy between reality and fantasy.
i may believe you fancy me
i find it oh so flattering
this smattering
of attention i am given when i speak of sadder things
to all of those who are enlivened by the activity
behind which i so transparently hide.
i always give what i am myself denied.
the truth of who i am inside. every promise ever made a lie
when art is more a performance of pride
then an honest attempt to decipher why
when alone we almost die.
i share my happiness and joy in a way thats quite sly
i pretend to be pretending when i cry.