It's me,
Stuck in a whirlpool of memories,
Suffocated by a flurry of thoughts,
Drenching in quicksand of my emotions.
On the contrary;
To the beholder,
It's just ripples, light snowfall and fine sand.
These are merely makeshifts;
To distract you away,
From the ubiquitous quest of life,
Pursuit of aliveness and
Gist of animateness.
In my context,
Life altogether appears as a;
Juggle for a momentous split second,
With the people that adore you and
For the people that you cherish.
I am curious about;
'What's your context?'
Your Split second of momentousness...
Reflection injection,
I can’t do time so I bear the erections,
like bad economies and serious rejections...
They have relations of stations upon the masters of fakeness,
roaring awakeness,
upon baseness
upon rankness,
...I try hard but hear blankness,
waiting on makeshifts,
I live for the lie,
even if my body falls off of my mind,
just in-case I have to try-
I keep myself wide,
but creep slow otherwise,
beat up the wrong boast-
with character in my eyes,
ride motorcycles to the coast,
act rich,
and not even take a dip.