Paranoia in my head;
Brain dead
In my own homestead,
Trying to keep ahead
Of the reoccurring rhythm
In the River Styx,
Making me sick,
The touching of those venomous lips,
Quivering tips
Is making me sweat;
Mandolin to an artsy man
Full of regrets
Killing his art,
In the persuit of getting smart.
Now he restarts...
Looking for footprints
Exploring the blueprints,
And the floor plan;
Checking under the night stand.
Wondering when he lost his cool
And stopped being a wiseman.
Wondering if he can escape a land
Of schizophrenic Laymen.
Feeling like a laity to a deity,
Missing like a lady to her baby,
Hoping to find a talisman
Before she throws the towel in.
While I seize my knees and squeeze
Out an empty seed;
Feeling like a Shaolin
Without an eyelid;
But no hope to see the deed
I must perform
On this island.
In order to stop a reform
Of my present life's end.
Like a blackmail'ed knife
Lost within the dorsal-fin
Of a seaman,
Bringing each season of paranoia
Like it is a demon enjoying a treason
Of my common sense with joy
And the weight of regret,
Hitting my chest.
Unable to rest while I'm looking for this,
Jaded treasure,
Hated pleasure,
Yet it some how made me better.
Increased my paper,
It was my savior...
Now it is a twisting saber,
Bending and snapping,
Breaking and cracking
In my body.
I wish I was not blinded
And it was still a hobby
But now that I can't find it;
I think that I have lost me...
