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  Man I loved being abused And I think you did too Kinda wish it wasn't over Please come back my four leaf clover Maybe it's no self respect My problem is that I easily forget You and I are the same in that And I think you also want to come back I think the abuse was love A traumatized version from above Neither of us could admit it So we kinda had to split it As Kanye says run away There's nothing left for us to say Except that u can always come back But remember we'll both be under attack
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Traumatized Exception Seekers

  The lie Presented as scientific Presented as intellectual Homo Sapien Homo Faber Man the wise Man the maker Truly belittling Autonomy and transcendence Apparent in description Homo sapien and homo faber Perverted the idea of autonomy Existentialism as the cornerstone A transcendence above reality The trauma of constraint within our minds Made us feel the need to escape We were bound by none other Than the slave morality That Nietzsche perverted in its definition A retribution? No, an individuality. Slavery is to the individual As trauma is to the human Interchangeable Equal in refinement Potent in solitary confinement Systemically imposed on ourselves The man is not the maker The man is the lost The man is not the creator The man is the reshaping The man is not transcendent The man is transcendent to himself only Reshaping the human identity As one of an acceptance of loss Necessary in our grievance with the traumatic impact of existence itself One of snark being the sole remainder I

The God of My Surroundings

  My sophomoric desire My destructive shape Planting a shallow deep into the veins Selective on its dispersion Hyper fluctuating through my brain. Demolishing and dancing Swift away through shimmying and springing A reconnection to the id A reconnection to purity A prototypical identity was born A fluctuating mirror With its vibrations high Its light sparkling Its light blinding Prototypical in its reflection Prototypical in its display The shimmering mirror Blowing smoke Blowing ash A nearby construction zone The shimmering mirror Now covered in soot Flowing through my veins, Demolition Destruction Beauty A desire for conservation A desire for desire Dancing through the woods The construction site A tower stand in its place A building erected A monument of prototype The saucer Flying through the skies A symphony of intellect A crash of despair Where did it go? The tower Standing above The saucer crashed into it The saucer damaging it But the tower still tall Dancing and demolishing On

Paranoid Autonomy

The rising automata, the perverse instability of identity, is autonomy just a sect of paranoia? Paranoia, the ultimate schizoanalysis, discredited as insanity, distanced from the noumena, present in all humans, holds onto a separation of the child with the adult, a potent disconnect between distance and closeness. An imposition on the real, paranoia is an adamant defender of truth, existing as a conspiracy theorist, segmented into a shadow, and disparate from the whole. Burning itself onto the psyche of rationality, and overtaking its identity, paranoia, the reflection of truth, rests on indiscriminate harm, and hatred of joy, a discernment of undisclosed identity, and a prominent voice in ideology. Autonomy rests its shoulders on the paranoia of control, the dominance of the object to the subject, the harm of losing the ability to venture, paranoia is a stark reminder of the instability of the child, but moreso the instability of the adult. Along the timeline of life, the grasp of the

Impossible Inherentness

  Pain vs pleasure, the ups and downs, an endless cycle of discontent. Absent of reflection, this cyclical abuse of the mind works as a coping mechanism to the stringent, and expansive, chaotic and overwhelming state of modern influences. The self, the universe, life, society, all of which are never inherently prescient to anybody, but reflective of a disassociation with your own autonomy. The power of global hegemony has distinguished these matters as part and parcel for existential singularities, the modus operandi of human consciousness.  These matters don't arise out of an inherent nature of the self, but as a simple reflection of the vapidness of the external with its automations of heuristical prevalence, turning the self into an automatic being, that the self should know who it is without exploration. Life controls the self, it animates it, and breathes it consciousness, deriving a reflection of the processes of the external into the self as a singularity. Its processes are


 I act so selfishly I hold onto things that need to roam I hold onto my emotions too closely I break my back trying to hold I lie in bed Your movements across my mind That sweet smile in my head Those luscious eyes so daring And your joy is glowing And my feelings so divine I hold onto those I love I hold too tightly Promises of a dove You're so amazing in every way I lie in bed Quiet afternoons And wish you'd be here soon I notice a missing piece I noticed a few I cant understand rejection I cant understand space Sometimes its just a projection In the mirror i see its face And in the silo Filled with lovely roses A rose dies with each day Each moment I dont see you Sighing as I wait for you Sighing as I find things to do Sighing as I think of things i dont want to Sighing as I listen to your voice in my head Sighing as the day goes by Sighing as I make people cry Sighing as it turns over Sighing without my four leaf clover Watching you walk away I cant feel the sam

Time's Love and Hate

  Notice the time once again Laminating its officiality in the minds of the perceivers Through the flow of morality, of experience, and of the functions of life. The time, Leaning its influence and fate on the gas pedal of motion Leading us into a chasm or into greater pastures The anticipation never fades. Attracting souls together Through love, mutuality, and empathy Time interacts with experience in seemingly opposite ways. Though time attracts It also detaches From one soul to another Time fades when life collapses. Between this collapse and birth, Time runs Through enjoyment, and through resentment Time mirrors our contortion Though time continues without our consent, We learn to love the joys and hate the bads Our experiences reflect time's wishes, And we hope beyond its restrictions.