Every day I look at words on a page,
Control rage and act my age.
Contemplate a better way to stay unphased,
Learn and add lessons to those from how I was raised.
By the end of the day or page, it gets more cyptic.
Life’s a book or painting, depending on how you depict it.
I drink the leaking ink and paint, until changes me.
I spit it back in a new form, I’m rearranging things.
I’m forcing dreams to manifest, in me and those around.
Putting psyche to the test; the mental underground.
I’ll melt away eventually, through porous openings.
Birds up high fall and die, without their open wings.
A man’s only as much as his stomach can bear to hold,
A woman makes him more, bringing warmth to were he’s cold.
We’re all born blind and stupid, as far as we can tell.
Slowly the world opens up, or turns into a cell.
We change and transform daily, so much significance.
We need to break apart sometimes, we’re intricate and dense.
Dissolving’s a solution, if you aren’t afraid to change.
Don’t mix with the pollution, but always keep it strange.
Don’t even listen to me, cause these are all just lies.
Be weird in your own way, and never close your eyes.