The struggling lizard flicks up its tail
It stays high up behind it
it absorbs the rays of early afternoon
A drop of eater on the marble it sips
I will bring it back to life
It will raise it's head and pick out intruding insects
It will feed itself and grow it will reproduce
It will become a hurricane
A wall climbing creature
seeking it's piece of the sun and survival
recovering to creep and crawl
And calm my anxieties
Shoulders weigh me down
legs attempt to amble forward
Move I say, Move right, move left leg
But they won't
Your life is not saved by confession
Honesty the way you curate it for ears
It does not liberate you
you but congratulate yourself
New attempts at rapport fall as awkward
tricky little sequences with half the affection
For it is not truths but what they point to
That drive people apart
Life is not saved through virtue alone
There must be a drive to ignore the weight
To push legs forth and watch them obediently
And they will
Bloodshot sky comes in vision
Those red veins make roadways onto earth
Searching and seeking the mind
Laughter within the insistent crimson
The smile comes from behind the wall of ink cloud
The one that inevitably eats the moon
vultures invoke the feast
The nakedness of humanity
Bloodshot sky looks down
It echoes every tangles aspiration and fear
Throwing them down as heavy nets
Woven from the blood shot veins of sleepless eyes
The way the solid darkness cackles
A hooded figure of some ancient creature
leaning into the psyche
There he stands his failures paint him plainly
He pleads with God for the present, tries to conciliate the past
Alas neither soothe his abrasive thought perception
The dread as malevolent flute calls and lifts his ghost
The cackling comes into rumble like live motor
Humming and breaking the empty quiet of a still night
The solid darkness slit like a throat leaking onto the man
A hooded figure of some ancient creature responds
Pulling the man up by his ghost
Throttling his last decency
Taking the bloodthirsty from his head
and embedding it further into his heart
As he comes back down to earth he is the puppet
His movements echoed from some where unreachable
Somewhere solid darkness bleeds in silence
The redness of this ancient creature's eyes
appear in his own
The strings are tightened fate is sealed
The man finds his own controllables
Puts them to work on a blind blind world
Heeds the cackle from deep dark
Turns back to the red eyes that meet his
He takes the dagger of all his torment
Cuts the ropes and stabs the creature to death
The beast stirrs still writhing in the solid black
Once a master now dying demon
He breathes in it's last life force
And pushes his will on a world completely blind
In a world aimless and hypnotic
where light is confused with darkness
Complicate life the mirror said.
The old man said the opposite.
He believed there was much virtue in simplicity
But unchecked the simplicty the youth adore
Makes a fickle poisonous soup
The chaos you squeeze from disquiet
From negligence or impulse
Is a thousand time more ruining
Than the chaos of my ambition
As it twists it's very own threads spun of destiny
The old man said Don't complicate life
The mirror image of him spoke back breaking the glass
And within the cracks of the glass were the words
Complicate life written in jagged edges
Zig zagging offensively across the glass.
I'm not a criminal.
I won't harm or steal
But I'm an outlaw
Not the kind on a motorcycle
I do not obey these laws
This etiquette these norms
I have my own destiny
My own will and form
I must wander freely
I must rejoice in the wind
From any direction
The storm must speak to me
I am not lier nor a thief
Yet I will never follow your beliefs
Your compulsorys, your conformitys
So point and judge
Miss the mystery
Life has been distilled
Inspected and quantified
The result is only disputed
Make sure it fits your idealogical narrative
That it sells votes or sugary beverages
At level five the architect who shapes your world creates long mundane predictable days.
There is no anxiety and no depression, the soul in question has a limited vernacular to describe their lot. Their feeling/understanding lets them know that their life could be so much more exciting.
They witness others lose and win, but they themselves never expose them to either. Their curse is the eternal sameness, forecastable memorized, routine. Envying even the desperate, for they feel nothing.
At level six the architect who shapes your world creates both opportunities for loss, failure and success.
With high polarity, allowing you to delve into strong emotions. To spend days or weeks in certain states that steadily propel you forward or curtail your progress and induce a sense of deep hopelessness and suffering upon your mind. Your blindness here is that you are unable to separate your identity or spiritual energy from your externally affected state or even passing moods, be they pleasurable or torturous.
At level seven the architect who shapes your world allows you to live through all three, the sublime sense of growth and progress, the feeling of winning. Yet on top of that, resignation, a sense of dull low activity and drive or obsolescence, where days have no flavor and life has no spice, no ups and downs. You will also live through anguish and affliction for the same time periods as with level six. The only difference being you will be able to separate your highest sense of thought or spiritual energy from all three modes of experiencing life. Therefore having more agency at the peaks and troughs of your existence.
Your level is not automatic. And at each level there will be opportunities to look for awareness. At each level there will be sacrifices to make to distance yourself from what feels inevitable, but never is. Your level depends on how much you believe or disbelieve you are the architect.
