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A piece on being force fed how to live and my own personal rebellion on the inside


Writing_freelance_online_content_dayton_cincinnati_columbus_centervilleby Tim Campbell08 Mar 2014

There is a revolver cold pressed to my temporal lobe
In magnesium burn
Bullets travel a path through my brain and out the other side for a hole in my head
Done my head right in then out with terrible hallucinations before death that have driven me mad
Fallacies of grandeur and arrogance blinding me to the truth that nothing has been broken
Yet the perspective of family
Helping me in ill times
This ravaging ailment in which I have lived in since I cannot remember
A habit of joints and whiskey may have hindered from which I can remember
But the statement remains still with delirium serums of perspective
Inducing thoughts of self contamination in this reality that I am hovering in the ozone
I can see the stars from here but sunlight has eluded my very sight
Drifting to the bottom where I see brothers gone this path of the mind
Utilizing the very things that make me see green on my skin and an alien that I am
I do not comprehend social convention of the serial conformist in front of me here and now
In every which way do they fit in
They dress alike
They seek normality
They seek career, marriage, children, and then death
From which I revel in the abnormalities that haunt their nightmares
I have wondrous dreams of the brush
Wild and free among the trees and I don’t have to worry if I fit in or succeed
Just exist in the tangential mist between my eyes and my brain
Present in the wakefulness of this plane