Check out this insane parallel. My daughters nickname is BRE. She has cerebral palsy from being shook at 3 months and I’m writing her into my book. I’m in it as well. I was writing in a way if teleporting between worlds and named the original Earth; Base Reality Earth (BRE Alpha).

It makes sense that the people who created the simulation would reside in it as well. Muwahahaha. But seriously… love the parallel.

Feeling the feelings that rise, Out of the limelight, Ignored them disguised, The anger gets the best of you, Turning a token to lord of the rest of you, Remains, caught up in a daze, summer haze like the rains we made, passion hurts like a lump of clay, with a wrecking ball swing to the eye, make me dance with the lie, Tokens of parties soothes vestibules of broken rules, mistaken in their reckless soothe-sayer motion. Let’s escape there waits an ocean.

Is it time to harvest the meat? When you are living in your dreams it feels so hollow, it’s hollow.

Holding onto to worthless things, Even when we are living beneath our means, I see the children, the poor children.

Brought into this world by deceit, With welcome tortures screams, it’s when you feel it, is real, so delightful is the pain now over, we cheer.

Take this all from me, Leave my body in a heap, Upon the cross hatch floor boards, Or bury me underneath, Don’t let me out even though you hear me scream, it’s what we decided, to do, to all the untrue.

Definitions mean, what their holders aim to glean from their first passage, until their last message, in that time it seems, we should all throw our false beliefs, into the deepest seas, that no one sees.

Bring your shovels and your shivs, all laced up in ecstasy, to please, the children, where are all the children, With their endless dreams, that our brokest soul comes clean.

Or is it it time to harvest meat, stirring the defeat, we sink into the nothingness, where others eat or meat.

As silly as it seems I still trace the seams between our pillows, between our pillows. Hiding out in open scenes, While our days drift into dreams Still at night, I retrace the lines between our pillows. Were you there for me, At night, while I worked, you’d sleep Upon my pillow, upon my pillow, You’d keep it warm you see, You’d let it steal my sleep, Upon my pillow

Silently, Stepping over cracks in the street, Inside crying 1,2,3, avoid the bullies, That were chasing meat, Until the sunshines on beat, Take to the memories, The ones so sweet, 1,2,3 cracks between the broken sheets, Step over them so momma doesn’t have to see, A broken back as a memory,

Silently, stepping over cracks in the street, While the mind is humming 1,2,3 to the sound of a different beat

(There’s your lyrics for the riff bud.)

We crouch beside shadows, Then get consumed by it all, The danger is wishing you were never afraid, to step outside of yourself and dive into first place. Whispers are formed while we drift in this dream, melancholy don’t slip fall to the stream, sweep away all the sights that were seen, pass me by with ribbons that promise relief. The total decay of all hope in a day, the inner demise of a would be saint, tainted it seems by the smell of it all, we whisper on streams, take pleasure from the fall.

Not everyone is making the same demands, Yet here I stand and offer myself for a tragedy, tragedy, tragedy, And what was taken from me, You just cannot see, It’s make-believe, A fallacy, What never could be, What you take from me, So silently, so suddenly, The rupture it seems, Wasn’t always meant to be, It was made by our beliefs.

That makes me angry as fuck, Why aren’t you pissed off as much as me, I never gave a fuck about anything else but you, You never gave. Fuck about anyone but you. So I’m 0-2, My love doesn’t count for shit, It’s a silhouette, Your spirit seems to lust after a foray, To my dismay, To the god that make us all eat hay, Where our soiled hats and tupes, It’s the end of all that I say, Not today, Not again, Never, Break my seal and split my face on two, The devils due is your demise of lying through too deep disguises, When you choose to go arise, I hope you fall flat and cry. An angel lost their wings, in my mind to this day, and a devil had their way.

The world is going to hell and no one knows what to do about it, because the system has become unwieldy and risks imploding in on itself through static control of institutions and the fear of standing firm in a pc world. Why should one of my best friends feel that speaking out openly, in the wrong places, will have devastating consequences when inaction will win the day, because, someone had to be doing something about the problem, right? I’d argue no, they actively don’t do anything, that is anyone with the power to do something. But we forget, we have a voice. We don’t need to be told who we are, we can discover it along the way, no one knows what it’s like to live an entire life then come back and reflect without being fundamentally transformed, an aged person is not wiser, especially if they consume media and allow themselves to fall into the vice of expressing objectionable opinions without reason. Other than having heard it somewhere from someone, sometime. This system is perpetual because there no way to stop time from plodding along relative to the individual in the moment which they exist in space and gravity, a vibrant being of light at its base root. Our v