Alot can change in a week, a persons usual line of sight, grasp of state of mind and the clench on time. Letting go of one can cause a bleed that will reap and drip trough every individual cause of ritual thinking, disrupting the simple thought processes of wanting to carry on.
There’s the days where you don’t push against reality, you don’t hold onto a clenched fist of anxious expectations of life, you breathe the wishful sigh of relief you’ve had inside you from the day you were able to dream, and watch freedom from your self.
There, that thought, the ideal state of mindfull stand-alone can cause a ripture across the ten million memories you’ve come to experience, in your short but fruitfull life. The push is natural, its a track, a path that we’re all walking together, the living and the dying, to want to carry on and live.
You know I’ve been there just like you and wonder why, how, that things are the way they are. It’s all colour, its all mixed flavors pushed together to give an assorted outcome that’s never stable or dare I say it, never predictable. White light starts to fade in on th eyes of the confused questioned minds, darkness sows its presence and doesn’t elevate the tiredness, but brings its own auroa numbness, because what does tomorrow bring?
Daylights not breaking and I’m not faking, I’m still the same as yesterday, its the trains of thoughts that keep me walking along that same path as you, but I close these picture eyelid stoppers and think of a time when I’ll cease to think and wish and see what I want, touch skies, scream inside my head, because twisted times these are my friend because your reality is a trap.
There’s the days where you don’t push against reality, you don’t hold onto a clenched fist of anxious expectations of life, you breathe the wishful sigh of relief you’ve had inside you from the day you were able to dream, and watch freedom from your self.
There, that thought, the ideal state of mindfull stand-alone can cause a ripture across the ten million memories you’ve come to experience, in your short but fruitfull life. The push is natural, its a track, a path that we’re all walking together, the living and the dying, to want to carry on and live.
You know I’ve been there just like you and wonder why, how, that things are the way they are. It’s all colour, its all mixed flavors pushed together to give an assorted outcome that’s never stable or dare I say it, never predictable. White light starts to fade in on th eyes of the confused questioned minds, darkness sows its presence and doesn’t elevate the tiredness, but brings its own auroa numbness, because what does tomorrow bring?
Daylights not breaking and I’m not faking, I’m still the same as yesterday, its the trains of thoughts that keep me walking along that same path as you, but I close these picture eyelid stoppers and think of a time when I’ll cease to think and wish and see what I want, touch skies, scream inside my head, because twisted times these are my friend because your reality is a trap.
