and again, this subculture I reside in, this same route I abide by, even if the map were burned. it's about the general frame of mind, not the overall design. I make a more graceful wrong turn.
could what I see be more than what there is? this is all there is.
it's all I see. and all I keep thinking is, prove me wrong. and all I
keep hoping is that you'll prove me wrong.
I'm sure you'd
like to believe in my own state of joy and bliss and pursuit of
happiness. not for my own sake, but in defense of your indifference -
to justify these truths you dismiss.
how is it that everything that appeals to me only appeals to those I don't appeal to?
is my own sub-subculture, and I can't open my mouth to speak anything
that's actually heard. I would reach out this time, give all the effort
it took if I thought you might process a single word.
so I'll leave you in this state of inherited ignorance.
is my hollow existence, and I swear you're all just shadows on a wall.
prisoners, social atmospheres. and an estranged sense remains after