I know a place where rules as a matter of fact do not exist.
This place is called a mind.
Forgive me, I digress.
Under the floodlights, blue, green, yellow, purple, red.
I am in a throng of swaying bodies.
Moving almost hysterically to music for the deaf.
Whilst they move in unison, I stand alone.
I look for the sun but instead find shooting stars.
There are no sands here, just rocks, hard igneous rocks.
I’m done now.
Life is a countdown.
I’d like to think I’m crazy, I hope this makes sense.
What price did you pay for your sense of sanity?
You lost your individuality didn’t you?
You have no mind of your own: you just go with the flow.
They kill. They kill. You kill. They Kill.
You’re lost in the middle and yet claim to be liberal.
Yet you claim grey matter exists inside your cranium.
Who are you?
You stare at the mirror for ages and yet you don’t know.
So you turn to your friend, only to see who you’re not.
Are you not confused?
You look to yourself, you do not know who you are, you look instead to your friend and you see who you are not.
So in the absence of what is not, you lose patience and accept what is (not).
You can have my head for I have sinned.
I claim to be who I’m not and deny who I am all at once.
I claim to understand the man I see in my pocket mirror when I don’t understand what he thinks or why he thinks it.
Sometimes I wonder if he is as confused about I as I am of him?
Other times I wonder if he can tell what I’m thinking.
He has my scars doesn’t he?
And those eyes, they’re mine aren’t they?
I know for sure that he mocks me: the mirror protects him from the horror of my wrath.
I see that smile, oh he tries so expertly to hide it, but I see it, he forgets he wears my face.
I might just destroy this mirror? Yes that should do it.
After all I am flesh and he is but an illusion of the light.
I am the soiled one, he is pure and is of no need for redemption.
Like Ying and Yang, Good and Evil, we are in prefect synchronism and alive in a state of comatose.
He claims he knows me better than I know myself.
I wonder if he feels what I feel.
When I cut myself, I see the pain in his eyes too, but yet I wonder if he does feel it.
Let me sing a song of love.
A song of hate.
A song of peace in a time of war.
The darkness found me after all.
Now I am on a quest to find the light.
Let my song have rhythm please oh please.
Surely my song can do no harm.
Let it make you laugh and dance.
Forget your sorrows: listen to my songs of harmony.
For what do you have really if you cannot sing?
How can a man love if he cannot forget?
For war is the prize of peace.
Our love is undefined, who will save us?
For we dance, it don’t mean the problem has gone away.
For we smile, it don’t mean all is right with the world.
But I sing my song and everything is right with the world.
DISCLAIMER: NOT HUMAN
I know this is cliché, but we all wear a façade.
I hope you find what you’re looking for……@TheBluePaet.