Looking for something “real”
that doesn’t exist but,
I want something to feel
Or even something that destroys me.
Something that day to day
and day to day
and yesterday to tomorrow isn’t the same thing.
My shits, showers, and shaves are scheduled.
Even my depressions are in agenda,
my Facebook is a bunch of people I don’t talk to but somehow can’t be defriended.
And I can’t try to pretend it,
like this life gets amended
by the piercings and tattoos
to just try and erase the monotony.
Hipster bullshit that I can’t stomach despite my girth
that somehow I want to embody but know it’s not in me
I’m looking for something “real”
but that is a construct
What the fuck can I do to break the chain?
Shall I change my name?
Or should I change my sex,
so that everything I see when I wake up is in a different color of perspective?
Can someone please take this perspective
because I think that it’s defected.
I can be different.
The splintered island off the coast of “Normal”
is what I like to think makes me.
but it seems that lately
mainstream mistakes me
for one of it’s own.
and it’s not wrong.
This new revolution is just a revolution,
days that just like other days
will turn into yesterdays,
there is no “new day” only an endless cycle.
today is already tomorrow in my mind.
That’s why I never say goodbye,
because it’s always another hello
in what would be a golden reality
that I think is painted acrylic yellow.
I’m so Lost in this cynicism,
life is a miracle, but as a youth, I am doomed to never realize.
wish I could be like other guys,
never one regret,
easy to forget
when getting your dick wet,
constantly sexed up.
Bros on call that I can easily text up
go out on the town so I can get messed up.
Every weekend is the same one,
I try to emulate these passing fads
but they are all the same one.
Now it’s this indie hipster bullshit
And deep down, part of me wants to be one,
EVERY YEAR IS A RERUN!
Every passing emotion
every breakup girls cry and hit the ice cream
with the quickness.
Every feeling you can feel is repeated.
Then twice begotten.
Everything is recycled
so nothing is forgotten.
It’s a formula,
implanted in instinct
and affected by the passing of time. Written primordially in our DNA so we may never forget that if we are not evolving, our minds are, and as we grow in this endless cycle we call time, we will repeat our victories, shortcomings, and mistakes. This equation does not change it grows exponentially with the millenia. So on and so on until time ceases to be time. Everything new. Is the same.
It’s a game.
I’m not sure if I’m cynical,
or if I’m pissed off because everything you can ever experience
You Rejoice when babies are born.
People grow old and die,
and after the funeral there’s always the question why.
You drink after the promotion,
you drink after the divorce.
You take pictures at graduation
you go to the honeymoon in a Porsche.
You get a disease and accept it,
You miss out on the best thing you ever had
you get a chance and you neglect it.
It’s all written, rehearsed, and repeated,
this rerun is redone
with a new look.
And a new flair.
It’s just another revolution.
A passing fad that is the most imperative variable
in the equation of human evolution.
a masterpiece already pieced together,
this is just a repainting,
when it’s all the same thing:
Life becomes predictable in it’s erratic dramatics.
That’s why I think the world is suicidal.
Tired of monotonous eons,
just so fucking exhausted with the cycle….
I don’t know man…