I Could Have Been Able To Remember That I Could Have Been a Contender

I played insane games with my brainwaves, leaving psycho-spiritual stains in the astral plane, collapsed synapses, bruises, scratches, this ain’t magic, it’s incompetence Unconscious but alive, same as everyone else in the supply chain on the physical plain: is it wrong that I’m still here, I’m in a contract of astonishment My epiphanes are crystalline, they’re bought and sold like nicotine - indecisive? Lived your life by your choices? Spoilt for choice? That’s not a punishment These mental ball games, throttled thoughts of pearly tall gates, hadn’t you ought to stop painting a portrait of yourself as a sore saint? It’s getting monotonous. Train timetables, tortured habits Surfing rings far from the planet Ailing adversaries, damaged goods is how we’ve always managed http://samnicholasharrison.tumblr.com/