Am I better than you because I’ve gotten better from something that I’ve made a matter?
A six-year-old danced his way to a million in six seconds and I’m taught the route to success is by going through sacrifice and depression.
But making it by going through any means, is something that comes naturally to me.
Because my mind carries infinite dreams.
Sometimes I feel like I need to explain myself; because of how loud the thoughts are in my head… Maybe I could become a shapeshifter, could I be the square who danced his way to success through a pyramid scheme?
Those dreams are to be protected so a negative finger would be put in for slaughter.
I think my kind of mind requires a Martin Order.
Eternal protection until I’m out of order.
I’m really starting to feel bitter, sprinkle on top some anger and a pinch of post-dramatic stress disorder.
I think sometime in the future, I’d definitely be in need of a lawyer.
Because my life depends on a bus ticket going through, and if it does it is only then my life will continue.
We all have traits we borrow from idols; we take the ones we need and substitute and recycle; it’s the same old cycle.
We use them to fill the voids of individuality we seek when mentally being bored to the point we want to shoot our skulls into the ground and bury ourselves under the grass and weeds.
Oh that’s only me?
Regardless the story starts in a warm busy city…
The details of the city are a blur, all you hear is conversation but no actually words.
Am I better than you because I’ve gotten better from something that I’ve made a matter?
All the faces have a strange resemblance because you see them all as a blur, the only differences are slight, like colour.
And the only reason you see that is so you don’t walk into a car, because the embarrassment would kill you and all you’d want to do is kill your sorrows at the closest bar.
Am I better than you because I’ve gotten better from something that I’ve made a matter?
You hate introductions and starting awkward conversations, and this particular altercation is a fine example; these two people always say the same things to each other and roll their eyes at the fact that they’ve bumped into each other at the train station.
Let’s turn our attention though on Simon, because Simon does whatever anybody asks him to do, he clinches his teeth and feels like Channing Tatum in his head, when somebody bumps into him and he’s too shy to retaliate or initiate in an argument.
But now he’s Adam Sandler itching his neck and laughing exactly like he does.
He wants to stab the guy who started all this and make him bleed and drink the blood.
He’ll cover his face in it too like Ryan Gosling in Drive when he kicked a guy to death inside of an elevator.
He’s even thought of stabbing his zits and watching the man choke on his own puss.
He loves films made by people at least one generation older than him, but understands none of the references.
But how would he look if he shared the same influences as people in the same age bracket.
But now his thoughts have amended.
He knows not to leave a trail so nothing would be valid when he’s on trial.
He feels like a trapped animal but he’s a bloodhound so he’s still eligible.
So he’s sure not leave any evidence in the soil. It’s bizarre not to think of getting rid of proof, before you actually shoot.
So for now the teabag’s in the cup and we’re waiting for the water to boil.
Life has him in a half nelson bullied by his addiction of emotion.
Desperation and identification.
That’s his life written in one sentence.
He’s a joke with no hope and he feels the only thing that will hold him up is a rope.
Unlucky is what he is so he doesn’t bother to even look at the cards he’s dealt, his immediate instinct is to fold.
He has no car to put dice in but if he did he’d see a snake’s eyes and crash into a pole.
And the snake will in turn leave the car filled with smoke.
So he masks his emotions and tries to cover the skyscraper heights which are his goals.
He tries to keep his eyes on the road.
And in return he hopes to one day too maybe design clothes.
Hopefully then making a career out of backseat gold.
But he knows there’s a lot to look out for in search of a pot of gold.
But there’s no sun or rain, no place for him in fame, or even be bold so he’s stuck dream searching in a box which carries only the cold.
I guess you can say he’s found the road.
He’s in the fast lane and his brake lines have let themselves go.
I guess you can say his life’s really starting to get out of control.
Nothing frightens him more than death because he’s about as angelic as a Van Halen album.
But in search of a different kind of truth, he’s lost his balance and found his fair warning that if he continues on this path than it’s hell he’ll go to.
He’s dying from not having any individuality because his home has no personality and as he looks down at his phone
He realise he has no friends to call to when he’s alone.
That’s what he likes at times, but he also likes being himself and that could come hand in hand when it comes to being alone.
So sometimes he just wants to be his own clone.
And see whose else’s traits he needs to loan.
Suicide, war and drugs seem to have been the only causes for the recent losses.
So he tries to keep his head high and have faith and in his mind he’s selfish enough to think that deserves multiple applause.
But finding yourself with God is the only way you’ll get the strength to power through all of your urges.
It’s also the only way you’ll be able to find yourself amidst all of these robots you meet as daily acquaintances.
So set fire to your disadvantages.
Now leave them lit.
I know it’s easier said than done but cardio isn’t the only way to burn all of your insecurities.
Set a match on the oil that is your past and live your new life as yourself. This is advice to me but I’m sure you can relate to it.