The change… what if it’s tomorrow?

The change… what if it’s tomorrow? You’ve walked the same street a thousand times; you’ve discussed every action of their cruel nature, with the broken record predicting everything that was repeated. Here, you no longer belong because of the natural intelligence obtained by the deep pain suffered in silence. He and she lecture for their own identity, seeing life on the surface, disregarding the truth that sleeps beneath their ego. One must realize that it isn’t haughty to tell the truth. It isn’t obnoxious to say, with a few words of reminder that ‘I’m not like you’, I have a personal life to move on with, with people who extol my presence. People I can respect without losing a piece of me that screech fucking sadness and lack of morality.

All of the resources are almost finished. How will you get by tomorrow? It drains you trying to stick a soul back onto a shoe that has already lost its lace. Finding only leaves you shaken from the inside out. You look around, noticing nature shares the same melancholy as you do. Compared to the government, those around that hurt you are no different in character. We complain about each other, but, really, on the inside, that’s what makes us shout. Burying the crux of the situation with tirades of disgrace. You are young, worn down, yet seen enough to know what they grapple with is their own insanity in giving the lax system up there a meaning to live. You shout ‘Take me away from this chaos… No one dreams as I do; no one sees the vision that imprints itself on the subconscious when my head hits the pillow for rest.’

Every atmospheric shift feels like something, but, as always… the feeling dwindles into disappointment by the same reality the broken record keeps gnawing on.

ㅤꨄ︎ Keep Dreaming