A Dream Till I Die
I’ve been an audience to worlds,
Distant, radiant, sublime,
But rarely found a crowd,
That peaked an interest in mine,
Maturing is choosing a choice,
Picking a path that sticks,
To something, anything really,
Instead of wallowing, pick.
But I throw hands with my demons,
Words like daggers they spit,
I’ll waste away a whole weekend,
While deprecating my dick,
Because I’d rather spend the day,
Chiropracting my neck,
Instead of putting the effort,
Towards something for a check.
I’d be welcoming to death,
If it weren’t so final,
Before swallowing my pride,
And standing up for my trial,
But I'll take the free trail,
I get a few hours a night,
Where I dream of death,
And I dream till I die.
— — —
Caught between love,
And the kind of love you test,
With self-affliction, a decision,
At the time you thought best,
To prove your purpose on Earth,
A slave, because for the rest,
Of your life you’ll be hooked,
To admirer’s bequest.
But requests don’t jest,
It’s a serious cost,
It’s a loss when you choose,
Between being the boss,
Of yourself or weed, cocaine,
Or hitting the sauce,
Or finally crossing
Where you don’t dare to cross.
And you wonder why I go,
Through life like a bitch,
When my acts of rebellion,
Were met with slaps on the wrist,
Just gifted I guess,
To be blessed and divine,
Or living in a dream,
A dream till I die.
— — —
Call me a metaphysical,
Being, ‘cuz’ I’m invincible,
See me, ‘cuz’ I’m original,
I bleed an ink, invisible,
To helping hands,
That I call my friends,
Who don’t want to see me,
In triage again.
Pick me up as I fall down,
Earth signs always on the ground,
I find I’m lost to silent sounds,
Of bleeding feelings that I’ve found,
They’re all around, your heart shuts down,
When so many cries for help surround,
And if I’m destined for the ground,
I’ll help whenever I’m around.
For one day I’ll be gone,
To my next destination,
No longer called virgin,
But still mint-condition,
Just another roundabout,
Way to imply,
That this is my dream,
A dream till I die.
— — —
We want AI to help,
But not AI for art,
However, that was the point,
Promise of progress, a farce,
See, when the problem comes down,
To progress up against profit,
The prophets always fall down,
With thirty coins in their pocket.
Does effort come to the betterment,
Of the whole of mankind?
Does the pot only boil,
With enough heat or enough time?
Or are paces wasted like pesos,
To fight the war on crime,
Are the stories we tell others,
The same stories inside?
You try and place high,
In the night sky with ice, dry,
Thinking you’re a nice guy,
When you're all tongue tied,
With toxic white boy ambitions,
You call them wishes, you lie,
Or at least they’re a dream,
A dream till I die.
— — —
And when I finally reflect,
I have to stand there in marvel,
How trying less to be good,
And more to be careful,
Can lead to handfuls of apples
As metaphors for traversal,
Through portals to islands,
Some would call controversial.
But universal opinion,
Is not in my rehearsal,
Throw colorful language my way,
And I say, reversal,
I’m partial to remain,
Completely impartial,
To your dispersal of words,
Working to give me an earful.
It goes in one, out the other
As we break for commercial,
I disassociate often,
Blank face as a visual,
Ignoring verbal assaults,
On my ears and my eyes,
And I’ll keep them both closed,
As I dream till I die.
— — —
I see the sea to the West,
Where it’s supposed to be,
As I see disease in myself,
That I don’t know how free,
But seems the easiest answers,
Always leave me displeased,
But the road to fulfillment,
Always leaves me fatigued.
The ringing constantly pinging,
A feeling that I’m believing,
Is squeezing all of my easy,
Feelings that I’m perceiving,
They’re leaving body and soul,
I watch them phase through the ceiling,
They leave me nothing to hold,
Or anyone for appeasing.
There’s got to be a way to age,
And not lose a sense of hope,
Without regression to minorism,
Or grow cold and alone,
To love life to the fullest,
As long as I am alive,
Would be a dream come true,
At least, a dream till I die.
