I Wish I Could Change It All. Go Back And Tell Myself "be Better Than You Are. You Preach And They Believe".

I wish I could change it all. Go back and tell myself "be better than you are. You preach and they believe". I have shown myself to be a lie, time and time again. An illusion, a vaporous air, the shifting shadows of the day. I have bred pain, and such a kind that my victims cannot understand it happening. I have become a being I hate, gotten what I wished, silence, and all the pain it brings.

I could never decide my life, no one need wait on me. I once made people see them themselves as beautiful and special. Now I cause them doubt, and instead inspire retreat. I wish I could have died before, instead of becoming who I am. Died as a fond memory, a happy dream.

No one has ever seen me.

I create masks to hide behind.

Each person gets there own

A special me just for them.

No one ever asks for more,

Can I be mad they are unaware

Of what remains hidden

Behind my eyes?

I am a dream

I silent illusion

Lord of the air

A vacant space.

No one has ever seen into my heart

No one has ever wondered at who I might be.

No more than the version of me that they require;

The first answer they get

The summation of who I am.

- me

I fantasize about my own death every day.

No need for calls of holding on,

No one's arguments are as good as mine.

I ravenously set about

Trying to understand all of life.

I got my answers

And now all I have are my delusions.

I have seen beyond the face of life

And I know what's waiting there.

I've seen behind the mask of daily living

And I know what the mask is for.

To know was better than happiness.

To understand more valuable than living.

I broke through

And beyond I found

Darkness

Profound darkness.

Here the stars are already old.

The creaks and cracks of aged world bones

Resonate within me.

I have aged far faster than intended

I am a dream fading into fog.

- me

Opening up is a virtual impossibility.

Even when desired

I am incapable of doing so.

The more pressing the question

The more cryptic I become.

I speak in riddles

And try to confuse.

As a serpent I twist myself infinitely

All to avoid lowering my defenses

So expertly crafted over a lifetime.

Utter isolation is my just reward,

One I have worked towards with tears in my eyes.

Self-damned

My word my everlasting law.

- me, my own, andrew-loves

I find myself wondering

How good of a person am I?

For those tempted to reassure me

Shut up.

In all honesty

I know I am not as bad as I would like to think.

On the other hand

I'm not very good.

I lust and hate

Not sins

Cheat myself and others.

I want more

Always more.

I am never satisfied

My imagination runs too wild.

I wanted god's throne

And took it

Even as I denied wanting it.

I wanted the world

And took it

Even while spilling rivers of blood.

I am lost in mythology;

Obscured by religion.

I am prideful above all else

And overwhelmed with shame.

I do not write for the masses.

As much as I might want to.

I write because I'm empty inside

And hope I can fill my void.

Even now

I have lost the purpose for my being here.

So many things;

I will never share with you.

I am angry

Wrathful towards mortality.

I loathe my own weakness

And rage against these constraints.

I resent reality's failure

To keep up with my imagination.

I want life to match my dreams

Whatever the cost.

Yet I am flesh

And I am not entirely able to forget it.

So I weave back down

And try to touch my own existence.

Here people are alive

Demons rule

Gods wear masks of piety.

Civilization breeds slaves

And I understand how strong that word is.

People live their lives in service to others.

They are given enough to subsist

But are never allowed to excel.

Their bounds are marked

Their lives designed.

We were thankful for what we are givin

And are incapable of seeking more

Though we may dream

We do not believe.

Though we hope

We dare not sure to seek.

Our world is manufactured against us

And we cannot find our way out.

Our gods are wicked.

They are the ones who live on high.

Those we envy

And look to for hope

Revile

And pray ill on.

This is our world;

Our reality.

We are in fact slaves

And we would kill each other first

Before those who keep us here.

I once believed we could rise up.

Now

I think part of us will always fight

To keep others down.

Too long in the mires of lost gods

To be able to put our species first.

This are we doomed,

Damned to die because we cannot move past.

Bound to...

What do I call it?

Such stupidity as to make me wish we would all die.

At least then there would be quiet.

All the arguing

Hating

Damning and persecuting.

All the aspects of our species

Put to death

And life allowed to continue.

No more awareness.

No more consciousness.

Only the blissful ignorance

Of existence just existing.

Then again

I don't know how to give up

And so I keep on hoping

Even against hope.

I have become toxic.

Not entirely sure when it started

But here I am.

I don't know what to do.

Something's got to give.

Something has to be lobotomized

Family friends school or self

While work cruelly grins in the corner

Knowing it has me bound.

- me myself Andrew