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Literature Text
Justice Insanity
I'm Not Insane
"Is This Life?"
Everyday, it's the same old thing -
Parents call to make sure I'm okay
To know that I'm not in the asylum
Never do they plan to see me at all
They want to avoid the son
They're too afraid to admit they think
Has problems that mean I'm insane
~
Is this how life is?
Families wishing to stay separated,
Afraid that they are disease to each other -
That their sight amongst others
May cause a ripple tide of insanity
To boil through us all
Is this how life is supposed to be?
Fear that their definition of normal,
Doesn't actually exist?
There is no normal,
There is no cure!
Shocking the truth out of our bodies,
Digging ice picks through our brain
In hopes we'll fall under their spell
Of the illusion that is humanity?
And what is humanity,
But these beings that call themselves
Humans who do what's good in life?
In what life is making new people
By such horrid means
Called "doing the right thing"?
Is this how life is supposed to be?
Loss of friendships,
Inabilities to be romantically close,
Families separating,
All relationships closing
Simply because we're afraid to admit
That normal doesn't exist?
~
Everyday, it's the same old thing -
Doctor calls to make sure I'm doing fine
To know that I'm alive in his asylum
Never does he plan to see me alone
He wants to avoid the truth that
They're all too afraid to admit to thinking,
This is the problem - not insanity
I'm Not Insane
"Is This Life?"
Everyday, it's the same old thing -
Parents call to make sure I'm okay
To know that I'm not in the asylum
Never do they plan to see me at all
They want to avoid the son
They're too afraid to admit they think
Has problems that mean I'm insane
~
Is this how life is?
Families wishing to stay separated,
Afraid that they are disease to each other -
That their sight amongst others
May cause a ripple tide of insanity
To boil through us all
Is this how life is supposed to be?
Fear that their definition of normal,
Doesn't actually exist?
There is no normal,
There is no cure!
Shocking the truth out of our bodies,
Digging ice picks through our brain
In hopes we'll fall under their spell
Of the illusion that is humanity?
And what is humanity,
But these beings that call themselves
Humans who do what's good in life?
In what life is making new people
By such horrid means
Called "doing the right thing"?
Is this how life is supposed to be?
Loss of friendships,
Inabilities to be romantically close,
Families separating,
All relationships closing
Simply because we're afraid to admit
That normal doesn't exist?
~
Everyday, it's the same old thing -
Doctor calls to make sure I'm doing fine
To know that I'm alive in his asylum
Never does he plan to see me alone
He wants to avoid the truth that
They're all too afraid to admit to thinking,
This is the problem - not insanity
Literature
Adios
Son las seis de la mañana y el aire comienza a enfriar los cuerpos que se encuentran en el andén; apenas es verano pero el frío no perdona a los foráneos. Vapor sale de las ventanas que se encuentran junto al viejo reloj que hace mucho dejó de emitir el tic tac que anunciaba el próximo llegar de los convoyes. El concreto del edificio hace que las plataformas luzcan más frías y lúgubres de lo que deberían. Gris y noche hasta donde alcanza la vista. Los olores de la tierra empapada por la lluvia aún cuelgan en el aire esperando quien los acoja.
Las máquinas estáticas que esperan
Literature
The Journey
Beneath my skin, my veins pulse with desire
To know why I am here.
As I journey to find the answers to life,
I sail through the monotonous seas
That stretch forever beyond the horizon.
As my ship sails towards the dry land,
Mountains tower before me,
Filling me with both awe and intimidation.
But the mountains are eroding as time passes by,
Into merely fragments of what they once were.
I move my eyes and watch the glaciers
Melt slowly into rivers.
But even though they disappear,
They melt to provide water for all life on this planet.
You could say rivers are created by glaciers for a purpose.
I ponder those mountains and glac
Literature
La caja (algun dia)
Tirada en el patio esta la caja, sin etiquetas ni marcas, una simple caja. Todos pasan, pero nadie mueve a la caja, estática e inerte percibe los pasos, esos pequeños murmullos que la hacen recordar que no está sola y aun así el abismo continua.
En todos sus años de caja esta ha estado cerrada, pues ningún hombre ha decidido hacerse cargo de la solitaria caja, la cual carga con su contenido en el exterior; una caja inversa quizás será.
No tendremos remedio que contar que esa caja olvidada por todos más presente no podría estar, es el ombligo del mundo. Tras de ella se esconde la línea qu
Suggested Collections
I've procrastinated too long.
Here's the seventh addition to the book!
The story I had in mind was a call with his mother inspired a rampage from him to yell this down the streets of town until he got taken away - which was his plan because he couldn't deal with society not facing the truth.
Here's the seventh addition to the book!
The story I had in mind was a call with his mother inspired a rampage from him to yell this down the streets of town until he got taken away - which was his plan because he couldn't deal with society not facing the truth.
© 2014 - 2024 LMW-The-Poet
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In a way, we're all insane, in our own way.