no more than a reactor to my immediate surroundings
a sad state of affairs when nothing's happening
hating it when i'm the focus of attention
while the fear of becoming what i hate becomes my obsession
are we really no more than slaves to our situations?
i leave you to ponder this
while simultaneously
my subconscious drags my body
in a dance i can't quite hear
in a fight that began in another year
drunk on psychic beer
running on lust, hate and fear
while i'm only aware of what's here
namely lust, hate and fear
stuck in a time trap oblivious to your motivation
i'm disgusted, bitter, and ready for death's oblivion
ready to be accused of being melodramatic
but at this point the words are automatic
and whether it's truth or exhaustion with the spastic
our opposing ignorance is caustic
but i doubt anyone understands
all they see is another man
our eyes only see to the skin
they're not made to penetrate within
and those that get under the skin
can only find meaning in lose or win
and you may learn who i've been
but do you even know what you're playing?
