Ace of Spades.

You start off with good intentions. A spark is lit, then the flame slowly turns into fire, slowly turns into an explosion. It's very funny how your whole body, mind, and thoughts can be completely inflamed...and yet no one will take heed until you're screaming in their face and they belch up a simple "why?" ...if I knew why...the problem would have a solution, yes? No one wants to be scum...it just somehow becomes easy after awhile. We are born onto a world that is essentially one giant head fuck. There are beauties and brilliances hidden amongst ever single square foot of this world. Most of it...we never get to see. And while reasons to be alive are out there...we're stuck being forced to rely on currency and propaganda for everything. Why isn't exploring a job anymore? The world then basically says...."there's what you want...here's what you get." And you get to decide to settle or be without anything at all. My brain keeps blood pumping, but it still craves answers to our existence as a whole person. What is all of this? And how can everyone else live so content with the fact that nothing is explained? Why was I born with the strange curiosities and chemicals in my brain? The drugs make everything calm. It feels okay. Until they're gone, then its worse. I was born upside down. The drugs aide in the sadness until they become the sadness. Then they go away...but so do you. Its not supposed to be this easy. To give up. That's why he died...so I would know not to give up. But why is it so easy? We shall overcome. With respect? What is all of this? I sleep. And I don't wake up. Everything makes more sense in dream land. How long can words be on paper until they enter someone's head? Until they become forgotten? Just like everything else. What happens when you want someone to read them and then you wish they were never written? Can you remember the same things I do? The dog, the dress, the tree? The little black book that held lines that you thought were inadequate until you grew up and read them from a different perspective. You blatantly chose to be unhappy because you're stubborn and your mind is made up that there is something far better than this out there. The irony is what is aesthetic. I know you know. And you're aware of that, too. yet we talk in circles to avoid it, because that is just what we always do. That's how we dealt the cards since day one. What makes people happy? A job? Money? Family? Love? ...or simply...knowledge or wisdom? How far out of this realm can you go before you end up never coming back? I don't want anything from you. I secretly do, but as far as everyone is concerned, I do not. And in reality and actuality, that is exactly how it should be. How far can we push our brains? ...our lungs? Our Hearts. The body can rebuild itself. physically. But how long until the visions, nightmares, and fears go away? They say fear is a choice. Unhappiness is a choice. I say they're very wrong. Who are you to tell me who I am or how to express myself? There comes a point in time where everything becomes strained. And at that point, you just have to stop. Hope it goes away. And if it doesn't? Shuffle the deck again.