Mentally impaired, you and I
Of, just another brillaint future gone at the instant of my thinking of it. Yet another crisis, and this all sounds so different written atop different music. Usually, it'd be whiny, now it seems proud. It IS something, it's life, it's pain and it's real.
How many can say that it's real. Real people just know when it's real, or when they lie to themselves.
And I could again succumb to clichee, I could just spill out nothingness wordy, I could. I could lie, I could live in the illusion I live in. I could. You realize? I really could. A choice, to keep sane and happy.
You know separation is never the solution. Exacty after you wrong him and her, and they wrong you back, that very instant is the chance of bond. It's the only bond forged of pain that we need.
Be pride in the knowledge of your ignorance. Be proud to preserv whatever self worth has been beaten out from you. From your mom crying, from your dad not giving a damn, from all the he's and the her's that didn't care to effort of real painful realness. Be proud not of experience, but of your ability of choice. It was you who went through all that, who caused it all, even if partially, and it was a choice revived from a statistical graveyard.
The pain and release of the dream of the walk of the passion you felt, leave it all in front, turn your back, go against the intuition of "against the flow". Be against it all, forever, and find peace there, beyond any already well known pains.
Go beyond the physical pain of wounds and the mental one of depression.
This new pain is so personal it can't be diagnosed, that's what you must be proud of, and when you're done, you'll know you won't. It's not a state, it's a becoming until we die, until we finally can smile no longer, unless molded into by peers who haven't learned yet how to stop lieing and living the pains of other people:movie makers, book writers, Shakespeares.
T.I.C.G
How many can say that it's real. Real people just know when it's real, or when they lie to themselves.
And I could again succumb to clichee, I could just spill out nothingness wordy, I could. I could lie, I could live in the illusion I live in. I could. You realize? I really could. A choice, to keep sane and happy.
You know separation is never the solution. Exacty after you wrong him and her, and they wrong you back, that very instant is the chance of bond. It's the only bond forged of pain that we need.
Be pride in the knowledge of your ignorance. Be proud to preserv whatever self worth has been beaten out from you. From your mom crying, from your dad not giving a damn, from all the he's and the her's that didn't care to effort of real painful realness. Be proud not of experience, but of your ability of choice. It was you who went through all that, who caused it all, even if partially, and it was a choice revived from a statistical graveyard.
The pain and release of the dream of the walk of the passion you felt, leave it all in front, turn your back, go against the intuition of "against the flow". Be against it all, forever, and find peace there, beyond any already well known pains.
Go beyond the physical pain of wounds and the mental one of depression.
This new pain is so personal it can't be diagnosed, that's what you must be proud of, and when you're done, you'll know you won't. It's not a state, it's a becoming until we die, until we finally can smile no longer, unless molded into by peers who haven't learned yet how to stop lieing and living the pains of other people:movie makers, book writers, Shakespeares.
T.I.C.G