Sage is My Hero, Volume One
Hangin' onto words. Oblivious to oblivion, which I'm told is not an option. The white boy hip hop in the back of my head fuels my ambition to get off the couch, make the coffee, spit words into the digital notebook. Eyes are sick of looking at the same thing all day. I forget how to craft my world around me. I forget a lot of things really. In need of mental stimuli.
Hangin' onto time. Wasting so much of it like watching m&ms melt in my hands. The sticky colors left over are reminiscent of my spirit. When I heard that the universe is expanding much like a developing brain, my neurons starting working light speed. Killin' time. Killin' wine. The wrong drink, perhaps. I love the idea of the poet who needs wine to get the words flowing. I am a drunken master. Monkey sips masters wine. I feel this is one giant hole I'm sinking myself in. Drink to think? Yeah, great step to getting anywhere in life. Sage is wreaking the stage while bums like me drink a beer at my computer making up my life as I go along.
Well, at least I'm not looking at stupid shit like porn. Boring boring boring boring boring.
Word crafting. I've been complacent in taking it all in lately that I forgot how to get it all out. Dying to be someone. Dying to be anyone. Just plain dying anyways. Gravity being the culprit to what eventually gets us all. Fighting the earth. How long can we keep that up anyways? No wonder rich white men want to destroy the fucking thing. They wish for immortality and feed us visions of living forever like that is the way things are supposed to be. Making us buy into their version of reality, living like kings off of the dreams of a closed minded flock. Buy shit. You need this shit. You're the individual who needs to express themselves in a world where everyone is so drab. Live longer and happier than your neighbors. Fuck the earth before it fucks you back. It will fuck you back.
Hangin' onto words. Hangin' onto friends. Words barely express the feelings that flood my mind when I think of all the time our bodies shared space. Space isn't even the final frontier. Just the next ocean we will set sail across in need of adventure. Your body being an expedition where new worlds will be discovered. I'm the astronaut of the bed room, boldly going.
I am now in deep space, and I'm at loss for worlds.
Hangin' onto time. Wasting so much of it like watching m&ms melt in my hands. The sticky colors left over are reminiscent of my spirit. When I heard that the universe is expanding much like a developing brain, my neurons starting working light speed. Killin' time. Killin' wine. The wrong drink, perhaps. I love the idea of the poet who needs wine to get the words flowing. I am a drunken master. Monkey sips masters wine. I feel this is one giant hole I'm sinking myself in. Drink to think? Yeah, great step to getting anywhere in life. Sage is wreaking the stage while bums like me drink a beer at my computer making up my life as I go along.
Well, at least I'm not looking at stupid shit like porn. Boring boring boring boring boring.
Word crafting. I've been complacent in taking it all in lately that I forgot how to get it all out. Dying to be someone. Dying to be anyone. Just plain dying anyways. Gravity being the culprit to what eventually gets us all. Fighting the earth. How long can we keep that up anyways? No wonder rich white men want to destroy the fucking thing. They wish for immortality and feed us visions of living forever like that is the way things are supposed to be. Making us buy into their version of reality, living like kings off of the dreams of a closed minded flock. Buy shit. You need this shit. You're the individual who needs to express themselves in a world where everyone is so drab. Live longer and happier than your neighbors. Fuck the earth before it fucks you back. It will fuck you back.
Hangin' onto words. Hangin' onto friends. Words barely express the feelings that flood my mind when I think of all the time our bodies shared space. Space isn't even the final frontier. Just the next ocean we will set sail across in need of adventure. Your body being an expedition where new worlds will be discovered. I'm the astronaut of the bed room, boldly going.
I am now in deep space, and I'm at loss for worlds.