Repeat After Me: I Am Free

Running, always in circular patterns carving

Truth within the caves and valleys of my brain

Etched and typed in the eyes of the few

Who seek to expand the infinite walls crashing around them

A continuous fleeting wanting fading & overcoming

Static paradox pushing through thought-water

Floating in plain view, bobbling on the surface

Closing lids for dream-speak lucid escapements

Morning becomes this different view from night paranoia

Sailing on a fragment of insecurity and misunderstandings

The words held on for so long becomes an outcast

Claimed for the occult when the truth is too hard to stomach

Upside down deadbeats born to accommodate law,

To serve you food, to cut your hair, or to uplift anti-nature

With their rules and the rules made from nothingness

Which they fear because we are all fucked

Happiness isn't anything more than a chemical boost from neutral

Since everything in reality is what we make of it

There has never been a matter or circumstance to create emotion

Just a false illusion to justify reactions

Inside-Out Phenomena

I chalked telepathic progressing teaching fields in concrete gardens


to farm dead calls of road picketers by the stumbled railway voices


so far from realistic waste art that a bashing tumor brings


a cheap city back blood bath radioactive, old and shared.


The future drunk reasons for tired souls tied across landlines


where crows sit along and starve


have become tattooed landmarks


staring down at the loss of humanity wishing for a break in the brainwashing.


Dunn becomes the wires, a fence following drawings


underneath seasons with insane phone trees against the streets with light torches


paired in threes of fleeting sacrificial dream keys for your jeweled casket rings


when you become used for enemy funding while elites blow streets of civilian children


& multimillion slaves go about their days as if nothing is happening.


If I had everything on your wall, I'd be just as stupid and shallow


as the mop bucket of your Mexican maid laid between cracks of pavilion seats


in raunchy downtown peep theaters that matches your fake tan and veneered smile


for secluded stolen states of genocidal rein filling up my pocket notebook


of all the ignorance that I see everyday.


Shared and old, radioactive blood bath


back city cheap tumor brings bashing waste art


so far from stumbled railway voices of road picketers


to farm dead calls teaching fields in concrete gardens


chalked in telepathic progress.