Keep on Keeping on

Are we wrong to keep moving on?
To keep our chin up when everything's wrong?
Even when voices have faded, to just march along?
Eyes wide shut to everything, keeping headstrong?

We keep ourtearstoourselveswestrugglerwedelve
weknowpainaswedelvefurtherintolife

We keep marchingonjustsingingoursong
asifnothinghaseverreallychanged

We just can'tslowdownwesaybecauseweknowthatoneday
we'llfindoutselvesatadistancefromeveryone

But it hurtsnonethelessaswegiveitourbest
justtoseeanotheryoucaredforbehurtandwronged

It's not wrong, to keep moving on,
we need keep our chin up, to try and keep strong,
We can only hope to help others be safe and march along,
and hope that those that are hurt will keep being headstrong.

Wash, rinse, never repeat, Repeat

I want a witness.
Someone who can list this
as another mental escapade
and not just a sickness

that I'm dealing with,
not just pleading the fifth
of a country I don't stand for
because I try to be a wordsmith.

The thought, ridiculous,
though I see my mind meticulous,
the questions come again and again,
a loop, simply asynchronous.

I try to break from the pattern
find solace from this cavern
avoid that peak astern
focus instead on what to learn

But it always comes back to this,
a set of rules kept, iron fist
to a mind that tries to break free
to freedom that may be taking piss.

It's always stuck on misery,
of why I keep insanity
a valid option needing reason
to go and point and say, "that's me".

It's a matter of being self-aware,
to realize life isn't fair,
that every punch you throw at it,
is another blow I need prepare.

And though I wish to drop the knife
to not live some sort of battle-life
my mere soul inspires strife
reasons to shield, I've had rife

Each victory comes with taste of lime
that simply leaves me with the grime
that finds me alone, again and again,
a poor existence for killing time

in a darkness I call my friend
for any other seems to bend
around a past self I once was,
instead of my reality in the end.

Suddenly

-KE UP

All the stalling in the world
kept falling into place.

Covered my wounds.
Didn't show my face.

Didn't show what I could become,
what I had....

Just because perfection
drove me a bit mad.

It was all there.

It was all present, to begin with.

But...

It wasn't what I wanted.

It wasn't without sin.
It was some sort of.... Blockade.

It was some sort of wall
that wouldn't let me move forward
wouldn't let me crawl,
telling me instead to spin my pencil,
for theatrics.

Saying, yeah, it'll come soon.
It'll make an appearance.

WAKE UP

All the while, hearing the the back of my head,
"No, not this one.
Gonna spare the world that one.
No, not at all.
We're gonna watch other people's work
instead of finishing this perfectly good piece.

Because it's not perfect enough.

Every word needed to
be better than the last.

Every project needed to be grander,
needed to show more.

You know what?

Screw that.

This piece written?,
I didn't even write it.

I threw the script away.

And today?

Today, I'm gonna say, "Okay,
we're going to do this MY way,
we're going to just let it be.

Let it be and see what it CAN be."

The words that flow
out of my mouth
get directly recorded,
even if the tools
I would rather have
can't be afforded.

We're just going to let things
HAPPEN.

We're gonna let inspiration STRIKE.

We're gonna.

And it's gonna be alright.

Because there are failures to be had.
And if I have to?
I'll have all of them.

I'll fall with the flow of them
and understand what I'll did wrong.

Because otherwise?

I'm doomed.

I'm doomed to just stand here,
spinning my pencil.

Saying, "When the perfect first word comes,
I'll write it,

.... And then wait for the second."

WAKE UP.

All the while,
watching the rain fall,
when I could have taken a picture of it.

All the while,
just...
sitting here.

Denying the forward motion,
because it decided that,
"Maybe I should take five
from this lunatic.

Maybe I should breath,
maybe I should hang myself over a cliff,
and see if inspiration strikes me, at least."

Because the artist isn't doing anything.

And for forward motion to take place,
it needs a push.

WAKE UP.

The world that I want to create...

It's all in there.

All the words, all the images
that I would ever want to see....

It's all in there.

It just needs to be done.

So, suddenly?

I will break.

Break the silence
that has surrounded me,

break all the quiet.
break...
this place I'm in.

I'll break it with my own ambition,

Because, ambition demands that I strike.

So...

I strike.

What have I questioned?

Frozen eyes,
dictate.

Their clairity
mimicking those frozen ponds
of yesteryear.

They beg to see,
not just shine.

To see what lies beneath.

A web of energy,
of greater things,
just out of reach.

In the corner of the eye...

They say, don't blink.
Don't ever blink...

We were designed
with the idea
of missing so much?

Simplified:
Where's the design?

Spiralling down,
to little stars beyond me.

Coincidence,
does it work?

Is it odd that
some fates intertwine?

A part of my mind
furrows it's brow...
Another discussion may errupt
for the beings
who taunt and guide me.

Does the Mind's Eye exist?

And if so,
why do I wonder:

Is it a guide?
Or a curse?

My blue ice can only guide me
oh so far....

Down this slippery slope
I go.

Don't ask, I won't tell

The ground, too familiar,
the routine, unchanging,
the town holding too many sorrows.

My home.

"Home".

Home is too homely,
and now, too empty.

All those I once deemed "friend",
either gone, gone, or have walked away.

Such a great city.

We built this city on
many a thing.
On dreams, on legacy,
on family, on firm words.

Not all of them a constant,
as those I knew know well.

But they are something.
They reoccur.
They continue.

I can't continue like this.

What must be done,
none would enjoy
the knowledge of me doing.

What must be done,
is so unruly,
that it has no return.

What must be done...
Will be done, and soon.

And I can only hope
that I can say goodbye,
for anything worth doing,
is worth doing fully.

And I can't say I understand it,
myself.