Graphed Out

Graphed out. Exposure of pointed frames. Framed by the idea of what is translated as the same. The axis of x is different than the axis of y and why Is what I ask.

Graphed out. Exposures of the brain. Powered by the motivation of what is played as a game. The dice rolled as the movement some times the move comes too fast.

Graphed out. Saturation of emotion. Hues of intention pixelate in their space. The rise and fall of painted expectation is a selfish race.

Graphed out. Representing the vision. Giving a shutter to shudder from the incision. Pushing the speed of rejected or accepted implication.

Graphed out. Transparent with force. Presenting an expression of stifled composure. Giving the inside a chance for its external exposure.

Running joke

It’s not safe here anymore. Maybe it is safer. I feel stuck between loving myself and being a self hater. Traitorous to what is reality mostly because I am confused by the indiscrepancies of what I see or think is me. But who am I kidding? It’s me, I’m the joke running. Only fooling the messenger who is delivering the ammunition gunning my own self down, I’ve stitched a target in the threading of each gown that I wear, each item I put on, it’s just a matter of time, I’m not sure just how long it will take for me to be blamed for another mistake. Another settling down from the the shit I create. The things I make up in my mind. It comes cued in, right in time and in line with any hope that “I’m better” … in short that’s the descriptive head letter. Short hand expresses the energies lessened and the dread of resent is moreover presented.

factual fiction

I don’t wanna do this anymore and by this I mean that and by that I mean whatever it is that proclaims to be fact.  in my experience, fact is just a misconception of perception. Fact is we are just an example of an alternative personification.  there’s more layers to it than just one or two, which will encapsulate the idea of what it means to be you. You have to go down at least six or seven personas further. Fact is we are just fiction covered in a multiple media moldable plaster of lustre. Overwhelming the egos stature or, boasting that its perception is the only one available or factual. Fact being prepared and produced through the eyes of the one who lives in self-induced demise. Always implying that what they are saying is no way displaying an active disapproval or an act of a mouthful of lacked truth, full of Words that are heard but have no definition. words that are delivered to be accepted without friction, just factual diction. again, encouraging you to understand that it can no longer stand to be what is held on the pedestal of undeniable truth, no longer served to our famished and truth-seeking youth. fact is the words are regurgitated fractions of agitated hack jobs applying for the positions of manifesting life long words of manipulated wisdom. its looking grim, son, so i am done, i don’t want to listen anymore to the distortion of fact in your swoon song.