I don't need help. I don't need anything. That is with the exception of extreme silence. Swept up into the machine, feels unclean. Not natural but material. Running on the wheel. So fake I cant take it. I hate it. I want to break it, no...break free from it.
It's voluntary participation you know, mine and yours to let go. But it doesn't feel like so. I am short on air and can't grow. And short on sun bro. I don't want to point fingers but the blame lingers on you -> land. This sand in my hand is ironic and bland. Tastes like confusion, an optical illusion...that weighs a ton. We got a problem Houston.
Up and down my mind rows through emotions and nothing and the baggage it tows. I never danced with the devil and I should hope I never will but this sometimes feels like a bitter pill.
I dream of wholeness and it looks the same but its sand taste better and it has a different name. A million people succeeding and I am "wow". Not jealous of their triumph but confused some how. Their commitment, passion and dedication seem so easy, natural and god forbid fun. I build walls and blocks to keep them all out and to keep myself safe from myself and the doubt. I will figure it out but I don't know when, it wont happen for me if I do nothing.
