Synonyms as People

Written by: Zhian Mostofi

Its a strange habit
To the muse of my delusions, I set traps for myself
Walk straight without any intention of looking back
I envision a dream and emulate the living presence which entices me
With words, with slurs, I appreciate and deliver my division again and again
And you’re convinced that there is a part of me missing from the frame
But this painter has yet another idea of a living safe
I will tell you what it means to become engulfed in risk and loose face
It's a simple thing when it's broken down
We’re all thoughts tripping the gates here as flesh on the ground

So what I do is
Leave a note on speed dial, repeat wild
Center my focus and release hold control of my emotions
I’m in need of a spoken bunch
To feed me off a lunch, with the simple hunch 
That I’m a brushstroke in someone else’s mirror reflection, deception
It’s all there
Just like you, to understand myself I must walk through the shadow of death
And realize that there’s nothing left,
That can’t get me...

I’m a slave to an ocean rollercoaster role model
Who shows that with every whiff of the salty air the most prevalent presence is the one that’s not theirs
My surrounding perspectives, astoundingly pensive, 
Nonetheless regrettably neglictant of my tidal introspective
Which is written in the fabric of the walls within which I reside

I, a walking-talk feel most alive
In the doubt which claims to be my mind 
A few pencil marks, a couple dropping clocks
and a bookshelf that persists in its resistance- 
Picking the phone off the wall,
Calling it off, calling the cops, because it just can't understand what it watches 

And as dust trails after the pages which are caught in free-fall 
in the air of this room,
Sum-one always seas the mUSic flood through