whatthefuckiswrongwithyoupeople
right... so I'm getting really fucking tired of people always talking shit about me. If you have one shred of respect for me at all don't talk shit about me especially if you are supposedly my friend. NOT cool.
I'm tired of there being a group of people who fucking hate me. stop, dude. I'm not doing anything to you. damn.
This is a really fucked up thing i just wrote it's weird I've never written anything like this.
And you pace the streets with a job to do
living sacrifices, dying, agony
you think you've found that goal
you are only afraid of what the world might hand you
on a gloomy breathtaking night
you keep up with the pictures
running, dodging, in a fruitless pursuit of happiness
friend and foe passing by your foolishness with a wave and a smirk
before the wind can catch you by surprise
the photo in your hand that you're chasing has reduced to nothing more than a foggy memory
life after death
you are only a mortal
indulge in selfish faith in what you could think you know you might believe
oh but you'll be saved, and I'll be left behind with a book, a gun, and your demons
but even in death you'll always be blind to the purity I've kept intwined to my being
and what of purity if it is not faith?
a meaningful and fulfilling chapter to the book
but you think I'm blind
it's you who can't see
and you wander the deserts knowing that one day your bones will become part of the sand
and never think to drink from the oasis where freedom and truth flow with a promise of end
your reassurance becomes nothing more than a mirage on the glass floor
but oh how I envy your foolishness
if only I could travel blindly into a heavenly entrapment which exists only in your dull iris
to submit my rightful ashes to a safety net
and your goats masticate on what will never be unveiled.
give me a reason as to why we shouldn't be given to the earth.
tell me why our bodies became temples for someone else.
and why the man stands beside while we scream in agony and he smiles crookedly at his masterpiece
why he feeds on our pride, our soul, and our temple.
then you can convince me that the goat is a god.
I'm tired of there being a group of people who fucking hate me. stop, dude. I'm not doing anything to you. damn.
This is a really fucked up thing i just wrote it's weird I've never written anything like this.
And you pace the streets with a job to do
living sacrifices, dying, agony
you think you've found that goal
you are only afraid of what the world might hand you
on a gloomy breathtaking night
you keep up with the pictures
running, dodging, in a fruitless pursuit of happiness
friend and foe passing by your foolishness with a wave and a smirk
before the wind can catch you by surprise
the photo in your hand that you're chasing has reduced to nothing more than a foggy memory
life after death
you are only a mortal
indulge in selfish faith in what you could think you know you might believe
oh but you'll be saved, and I'll be left behind with a book, a gun, and your demons
but even in death you'll always be blind to the purity I've kept intwined to my being
and what of purity if it is not faith?
a meaningful and fulfilling chapter to the book
but you think I'm blind
it's you who can't see
and you wander the deserts knowing that one day your bones will become part of the sand
and never think to drink from the oasis where freedom and truth flow with a promise of end
your reassurance becomes nothing more than a mirage on the glass floor
but oh how I envy your foolishness
if only I could travel blindly into a heavenly entrapment which exists only in your dull iris
to submit my rightful ashes to a safety net
and your goats masticate on what will never be unveiled.
give me a reason as to why we shouldn't be given to the earth.
tell me why our bodies became temples for someone else.
and why the man stands beside while we scream in agony and he smiles crookedly at his masterpiece
why he feeds on our pride, our soul, and our temple.
then you can convince me that the goat is a god.